Charting Maps
by ChartingMaps
Summary: Compared to parenting, sword fighting ghost pirates during a storm or getting through deadly jungle temples in search for treasure seemed like the easiest things in the world. And even after nearly 9 years of raising his boys, Donald is still trying to get the hang of it. He isn't perfect, but he knows that you can't find buried treasure without first charting the map to find it.
1. Shaking Hands Chapter 1

The first of many stories I hope to make involving the Duck boys. Mainly this series is going to revolve around Donald, and his adventures in learning just how hard parenting can be, and how he can become better at it for his boys. Different stories will involve different points in the Duck boy's lives. Shaking Hands Arc takes place a year before the nephews meet Scrooge. Other Arcs will include different time periods.

Also, this is a Ducktales Human!AU fic. I didn't have space to include it in the title. Hope you enjoy! Make sure to leave a comment if you liked it and want to see more!

* * *

His hands gripped the old, leather steering wheel so tight they were turning a dangerous color of white. Frustration pulsed through every vein in his body as he mumbled angrily under his breath. His old Jeep Wagoneer squeaking and groaning with every sudden stomp on the breaks and turns taken too sharply as he raced uptown.

Usually, it would be the noon traffic causing the heat in his cheeks to rise as his temper would get the best of him. But, for once, his angry mutters and snide curses weren't directed at the other drivers commuting on the same roads. (Even if that one jerk _did_ cut him off at Hemmingway and Nordman Street.)

No. His _one-sided-conversation_ outbursts he'd been having ever since he had gotten into the car were entirely focused on the one thing that could make Donald Duck drop everything in half a heartbeat. The only thing that could make Donald switch emotions from disappointment to panic to rage so quickly it was as easy as flicking a light switch on and off and on again. The only thing that could make Donald excuse himself early from a meeting that was so, _so,_ important, _a meeting that had been planned for weeks and depended solely on his presence_ , that it was making Donald's stomach tie itself in sickening knots for leaving something that could very well change the rest of his life. And, judging from the looks of annoyance and displeasure burning hot against his back as he left the conference room, the rest of his life may have taken a turn for the worst.

All because of this one thing. The same thing it _always_ was.

 _His boys._

"I'm gonna kill 'em," he all but growled as he swung the steering wheel to the left, hitting the curb so hard he nearly toppled his car onto its side. Thankfully, Lady Karma was probably thinking his day couldn't have gotten any worse and pitied him, so his car steadied itself back on all four wheels as he continued to maneuver his way hastily through the crowded streets of Duckberg City.

"I told them, what? Four? Five times this morning! Another ten last night! About a 100 _more_ times this week! I said, ' _no matter what, DO NOT get into trouble today_ '." He took another sharp turn, practically almost clipping an older woman crossing the street with her dog. He barely spared a glance in the rearview mirror and didn't give her a second thought when he saw that she was alright and waving her handbag angrily at him.

"I told them any other day. Literally. _Any_. _Other_. _Day._ Would have been fine. They could light explosives in the street or graffiti every last cop car in the damn city for all I cared. As long as they didn't do it today." He slammed on the breaks just as the street light turned red and nearly avoided becoming a car-sized pancake in the middle of the intersection by a large semi barreling by.

"I swear, it goes in one ear and out the other with them. Because did they listen? _Oh_ , no! No, instead I get an urgent call from the principle, _the principal herself_ , saying that I needed to come to the school _now_! That I had to drop everything and come see what mess the boys made this time!"

In retrospect, he could have ignored the call. Or better yet, he could have explained that he was in a very important meeting that he could _not_ miss and could have asked to see the principle when he'd come to pick the boys up after school. Hell, anything would have been better, as long as he had stayed at that meeting. As long as he didn't leave with nothing but an embarrassed grin and a pathetic excuse for a sorry to justify his leaving.

His grip on the wheel loosened just a fraction as he exhaled a long breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

But he didn't. He _couldn't_. It was the boys after all. _His_ boys. If the principle of their school, _hell_ , if a substitute teacher needed to see him about the boys, no matter how big or small the issue was, there was nothing on this earth that could stop Donald from dropping everything and racing over to them.

Of course, that didn't mean Donald couldn't be as mad as a bat outta hell as he raced.

Pulling into the all too familiar elementary school, Donald had the distant thought that they should make him his own parking spot for all the times he's had to visit the school cause of the boys. Of course, not all those times where because the boys were in particular trouble for misbehaving.

There'd been spelling bees and play performances and soccer games. Parent/teacher conferences and field trips that Donald volunteered to chaperone. Those were times Donald enjoyed coming to the boy's school. Supporting them, and seeing them excel in the things they liked doing.

But those few good times were far outmatched by the more prominent and pressing ones.

Playing field hockey in the science lab, setting free all of the biology frogs in the cafeteria, and putting Play-Doh in all the instruments in the music room were just a handful of incidents that came to mind. Most of those incidents had resulted in the threat of expulsion, and with what little luck Donald had in him, he had managed (practically begged) to lower the punishment to just a metaphorical slap on the wrists.

But the threat was always there.

And he desperately hoped today wasn't the day where his luck would run out.

Taking much longer than he'd wanted to park and lock his car, having fumbled with his numerous amount of keys on his key ring and smacking his head on the dashboard to pick them up from where he dropped them, he had to physically force himself not to stomp his way up the school steps and fling open the entry doors.

At this point, he could probably walk to the principles office blindfold, knowing the layout almost as well as he knew his own houseboat. It took him record time to march his way over to the school's checkout desk, and before he could even say anything, the secretary was already handing him the check-in clipboard.

"What did they do this time?" Donald asked, scribbling in his name and the time of his arrival, skipping the pleasantries at this point in their relationship. The secretary, Miss Gadwall, probably knew more about him and the boys than most of his own family. That wasn't surprising though, considering the only family he really kept in contact with was Granny Duck. And sadly they only ever visited her farm during the holidays. Whereas he seemed to see the school's secretary on almost a weekly occurrence.

Obviously, a backwards way to go about life, but Donald's never really had a conventional lifestyle, so why try and change it now after all these years?

And Miss Gadwell, bless her, was always kind and understanding towards Donald and their situation. She gave him a sad, knowing smile as she stopped typing and took the now finished paperwork from Donald's hands.

"It's better if you just go in and see for yourself. They're waiting for you now," she motioned her head towards the back door at the end of the hallway. The principle's office. Donald nodded solemnly and loosened his necktie as he walked past the front desk towards his impending doom.

Before he could make it halfway down the hallway, however, Miss Gadwall had called his attention once more. "Donald."

He paused and turned to see her standing and leaning over her desk to see him better. Her smile was gone, but the same sad expression, an expression he notes he's never really seen on the young woman's face before, lingered as she looked at him.

"Go easy on him," was all she said as she sat back down and continued typing on her computer.

Something screamed painfully in the back of his mind, warning sirens blaring as his anger from before quickly dissolved into an overprotective panic. His boys were the only ones in the world that could make his emotions transition so fluidly and without a second thought. Donald's mind was starting to swim with this new piece of information that asked more questions than he had answers for, and it took all his willpower not to race down the hallway, grab the door handle with his now shaking hands and throw it open with enough force to break it.

Because Miss Gadwell, as sweet as she was, never held back in faulting the boys when they had gotten into trouble. She had never expressed a sense of pity for them, as she did just now.

And if there was one thing he admired about his boys, was the unrelenting fact that they had each other's backs through thick and thin. There was no such thing as only one of them getting in trouble because where one of them was, the other two were never far in front or behind. Every shattered window, smoke bomb in the bathroom and water balloon to the face prank, had all three of their signatures on it. ' _Ride or Die_ ' Donald had once overheard them say to each other, a sort of unspoken agreement between the three that no matter what, it would always be the three of them. It would always be Huey, Dewey, _AND_ Louie.

 _Go easy on_ _ **him**_ _._

Donald swallowed, ignoring the cold sweat now running down his back as he gripped the door handle like it was a lifeline. Mustering up all the courage in the world, he steadied his hand and opened the door.

Because if there was only one of them in there, then there was something seriously wrong.


	2. Shaking Hands Chapter 2

There were some things he recognized, and some thing's he didn't.

He recognized the familiar large bookcase that covered the entirety of the back wall behind the principles desk. Stretching from corner to corner with old teaching guides, encyclopedias and other books that made Donald wonder if they had ever been read or were just there for decoration.

The irremovable mysterious brown stain on the dark blue carpet, which he know's that one of his boys caused, but frankly is still too afraid to ask about, and no one has yet to fork over the information to him. So there it'll sit, its origins a mystery until either one of his boys fesses up or Donald dies.

Having raised the triplets for 9 years, Donald should just come to terms that he's never going to know what made that stain.

He recognizes the smell of dust, which always confused him because as far as he could tell, the place was always clean and neatly sorted, and coffee. The sound of the coffee machine in the back humming softly and soothingly as it seemed to consistently be making a fresh batch. Donald has had one of those fresh batches before, on days he's had to come in from working overtime from two, sometimes three jobs, and the principle giving in and taking pity on him. He liked those days. They were comforting.

This was obviously _not_ going to be one of those days.

Donald Duck may not have his own parking spot in the parking lot in front of the school, but his family had, in a way, made its presence in the building known. Most notably, the four chairs in front of the principles desk. One for each of the Duck boys, including himself.

Today, however, three of them were already filled with people Donald didn't recognize. The first, being a rather tall and skinny man, balding, and with a thick, black Chevron-style mustache. He was in a clean business suit, dark brown, kind of like the stain on the floor, and he had an ugly expression on his face when Donald walked in.

Next to him sat a rather plump woman, her figure barely squeezing into the already large chairs. She was wearing a bright, almost disgustingly so, lime green Chanel suit. (Donald was almost surprised he could tell what a Chanel suit even was. Probably due to all those late nights in college helping Daisy study for her fashion courses) Her dark brown hair was curled and pinned neatly under a matching lime green hat. She didn't look like she had a neck, so when Donald entered the room, her head seemed to snap towards him on her body, her eyes squinting at him in disgust as she puffed out her already chubby cheeks.

Lastly, sitting in a chair practically touching the woman's, was a little boy around his own kid's age. He says little, but Donald noticed that this boy was almost identical to his mother. Plump enough to almost seem squished and uncomfortable in the chair, and probably weighing more than all three of his boy's combined. He too had brown curly hair, squinted eyes and chubby, red cheeks that puffed out every time he sniffed.

It was only then that he noticed the child was crying. Big, sloppy crocodile tears pooled out of his swollen eyes and snot dripped from his nose as he curled into his chair, leaning towards his mother. When the woman wasn't busy staring accusatory daggers into Donald, she was rubbing the kid's back and shushing him comfortably, dabbing at his face with a damp handkerchief.

The boy only glanced at Donald for a second, but it was long enough for Donald to notice a mischievous sneer before practically throwing himself back towards his mother's arms with even heavier set sobs and snot filled sniffs. He clung to her as she continued to lull and shush him back into comfort, glaring at Donald and looking just on the sane side of murderous.

 _Today really was the worst day to get into trouble._

As soon as he thought that, Donald turned towards that last of the four chairs, and finally felt the knot in his heart lesson it's tightness a bit when he recognized the familiar green sweatshirt of his youngest. Louie's chair was pulled further away from the other three, which Donald agreed to the idea of putting some distance between the two families, and his hood was pulled up tightly around his head, hiding his face from view.

Louie kept his head down, not bothering to look up when Donald entered the room.

"Mr. Duck, glad to see you finally made it. Sorry to call you in here so suddenly."

The voice pulled Donald's attention towards the large desk in front of him, which a woman with short white hair was sitting behind. Her hands were folded in front of her as she leaned forward, her glasses catching the glare from the ceiling lights.

"Principal Merganser," Donald nodded in greeting, walking up beside Louie's chair and placing himself in between his nephew and the crying boy. He was glad Merganser didn't bother bringing in a fifth chair. It would have made the room feel too crowded. That, and the fact that Donald wouldn't be able to sit still long enough to have a conversation. At least, not _this_ kind of conversation.

He probably got that habit from his time in the Navy. Standing and taking/giving orders felt more comfortable and second nature to him than sitting in a chair exchanging pleasantries. He preferred to be on his feet. Ready for whatever may come at him. Fight or flight response was easier to maneuver when you weren't stuck in a waiting room chair.

He still didn't know what kind of response he was going to need for this.

"Can you explain to me what happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened!" The woman all but shouted, straddling her son to her side protectively as sat up straight, ignoring Merganser's hushed warning to let her handle it. "Your _nephew_ picked a fight with my little Gilly here, practically tackled him to the ground during recess, and then proceeded to insult _and_ assault my child!"

Donald blinked once. Twice. And then he turned his head from his nephew to ' _little' Gilly_ , and then back again. He blinked again and pointed at his nephew as he rose a brow at the plump mother.

" _This_ nephew?" He questioned.

The mother's face flushed to a dangerous shade of red. "Of course we're talking about him-."

"Louie? _This_ Louie right here," Donald interrupted, putting a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Because that doesn't sound like Louie at all."

 _Dewey, maybe._ An ugly voice said in the back of his head. _B_ _ut not Louie_. "Maybe there's been some confusion. Louie wouldn't just pick a fight for no reason. Certainly not with a kid 3 times as big as him."

" _Excuse me_?"

"Mr. Duck," Principal Merganser warned, putting her hand up to calm the mother, but the woman was already on her feet.

"Are you saying my child _lied_?"

"Well, no, technically you did, but-."

"How dare you-!"

"Mrs. Yorkshire! Mr. Duck! Please, let me handle this." Principal Merganser stood from behind her desk, voicing a tone Donald was sure was only reserved for very problematic children. Problematic children, and their equally problematic parents.

Merganser sighed, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose and sitting back up in a professional manner.

"Mr. Duck, this is Mr. and Mrs. Yorkshire. Their son, Gillian, is in Huey, Dewey and Louie's class," she paused, but only for a second as she soon realized the two sets of guardians weren't about shake hands in a mutual parently respect. "Earlier today, Louie was seen by many recess staff, fighting with Gillian here. They were separated immediately and brought directly here."

She frowned folding her hands tightly in front of her. "As you know, fighting is absolutely _not_ tolerated in this school. But before I can pass appropriate judgment for these circumstances, I need to know both sides of the story."

"My little Gilly here already explained that he was just trying to have a friendly conversation with your _nephew_ when out of no-where, _he_ suddenly attacked my poor child. Throwing him to the ground and wrestling him like some crazed animal," Mrs. Yorkshire interrupted, glaring furiously at Donald. 'Little' Gilly sniffed pathetically for added effect. "And your _nephew_ has said little to refute this! Not that it matters, considering there were plenty of witnesses to back up Gilly's statement."

Donald was getting really tired of the way she kept pointing out Louie as his _nephew_ like the word was venom on her tongue. Biting into Donald's heart and working its way into his system, making him angrier and angrier every time she opened her big mouth.

Principle Merganser knew all too well that it didn't take a lot to push Donald's buttons when it came to the boys, so before Donald could throw a childlike tantrum in Louie's defense, she threw her hand out to grab all of their attention.

"Nevertheless," she said carefully, and in that same tone that demanded the attention of all those around. "I still would like to know what caused this reaction from Louie. Unfortunately, Louie hasn't spoken much on the matter. He only commented that you were in a very important meeting today and that we shouldn't call you in. I do apologize again for the inconvenience, but as you can see, the circumstances have changed."

 _So they did listen_. Donald thought, feeling the guilt rise in his chest from his earlier accusations towards his nephews. They did know today was an important day. But if they knew that, if _Louie_ knew that, then why did he still pick a fight with this kid?

Because this wasn't like Louie in the slightest. Huey was the confrontational type, only in the sense that he would easily confront a bully (which Donald could tell from a mile away despite the snot dripping from his nose, that Gilly was) about whatever was wrong and try to teach them otherwise. Using his brain and his words to deal with the situation.

Dewey was the one who would actually fight the bully. His actions always spoke louder than any words Huey could offer, and he wasn't ever afraid to act long before he ever thought about a situation. He was like Donald in that way. And he loved his nephew more than anything in the world because of it, but he wouldn't put it past Dewey for a second to be in a position like this.

But this was Louie. Louie didn't fight with his words or his fists. Louie didn't fight. Period. Louie was clever, more than Donald ever gave the nine-year-old credit for. If he intended on dealing with a bully, he would have used some back alley scheme to do the dirty work for him. Blackmailing was more of Louie's scene. He'd never willingly put himself in the spotlight like this.

And if he did get caught, the first thing he'd try to do would be to smooth talk himself out from the spotlight.

Not just sit in a chair that almost dwarfed him in size and appearance. Not sit there quietly, his hands shoved into his sweater pocket, shoulders hunched and his hood pulled over his lowered head. Not a word spoken in his defense since Donald got there. Not a word spoken at all.

He looked so small in that chair, his feet dangling over the floor. So defenseless. And Donald had to wonder what on earth could make his nephew act like this.

"Louie? What happened?" Donald asked calmly, kneeling beside the chair and placing his hand on Louie's arm. As soon as Donald did that, though, Louie snapped his head towards other direction, facing away from Donald.

He didn't shake off Donald's touch, which Donald had half expected him to and was grateful he didn't, but the action still confused and hurt him. Why was he avoiding him? "Louie?"

Without giving much time for him to answer, Mrs. Yorkshire was already throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Why are we even still humoring him? It's obvious the _little monster_ doesn't have anything to say about traumatizing my child because he's guilty! The brat has no excuse or reason for attacking him!"

Donald's head spun around so fast, he should have sprained something. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my kid like that-."

"Mr. Duck, please, I don't think she meant-."

" _Your_ kid?" Mrs. Yorkshire scoffed, raising a revolted brow as she interrupted Merganser again. "As I've learned, he's only your _nephew_. And after meeting his 'legal guardian', I find it understandable why he'd react so barbarically in the first place."

"Mrs. Yorkshire! That is enou-."

"What are you implying here?" Donald hissed through gritted teeth, standing up from his kneeling position. Mrs. Yorkshire followed suit and stood between Donald and her own son.

"Well isn't it obvious? Young boys need a proper home, proper _instruction_ , to learn how to react and how to handle themselves in social manners. And it would appear the 'home' _you're_ providing isn't meeting most of those qualifications." She stood practically nose to nose with Donald, poking him in the chest with her sausage fingers with every accusation. And Donald had to force every fiber of his being to keep his trembling hands clenched to his sides and his anger trapped behind his clenched teeth.

"But of course, that's not your fault," she said all too relaxed, as if she didn't just raise the tension in the room to height's almost choking Donald's racing heart. "You got stuck taking care of _these_ children by order of the state. It's the parents' fault for not taking responsibility. Of course, after what happened today with my Gilly, I can see why a mother would abandon such trouble making children."

It's easy to push Donald's buttons and get him angry. But you had to be _really_ wanting a death wish to push the button that made Donald see pure, raging, fiery red.

Because Donald could easily take a stab at himself.

But going after his kids. His _sister_.

Well, that was basically asking for war.

And maybe that's why Louie almost screamed his name in panic as he grabbed his arm, pulling Donald away from the impending blowout Donald was just seconds from having. Because Louie knew that.

And maybe it was the desperation in his voice, or maybe simply just the sudden jolt in motion coming from his nephew, that grabbed Donald's attention and made him focus his glare on Louie.

And his heart nearly stopped beating.

Suddenly he understood why Louie wouldn't return his gaze earlier. Why he refused to speak or even look at Donald.

In the sudden jump to catch his uncle's arm, Louie's hood had fallen from his face. Revealing bright, round blue eyes that were so full of panic and fear that it made it hard for Donald to catch the breath that was just stolen from him.

And surrounding one of those eyes, was a giant black bruise that was quickly swelling up.


	3. Shaking Hands Chapter 3

Hot chocolate was usually reserved for dethawing the boys from a day out in the winter snow or special occasions. But after the day they had, Donald didn't hesitate to break out the cocoa as he brewed a cup of coffee for himself.

Once he added some tiny marshmallows to the warm milk and powder and poured himself a mug of straight black, he joined his nephew at the small kitchen nook next to the window. Louie had been sitting there quietly ever since they got back home, holding a makeshift ice pack made from a bag of frozen peas and a dishtowel to his now definitely swollen black eye.

"It's been ten minutes. You can take the ice pack off now. I'll let you know when to put it back on," Donald scooted into the booth across from Louie and slid the green mug of hot chocolate over to him. "Careful, it's hot."

Ignoring his own advice, Donald took a long swig of his black coffee. Sure, enough, the heated liquid burned the roof of his mouth and down his throat, but it wasn't anything Donald wasn't used to. Back when the boys were just toddlers, Donald had learned how to down whole cups of regular black coffee, having no time in his busy schedule to make something better or wait for the coffee to cool down first before he had to run off and make sure Dewey didn't climb to the roof again or Huey didn't strangle himself with the boat ropes trying to learn how to make a Reef knot. His mouth and throat were basically just a large callous at this point, so anything lower than 200 degrees was nothing Donald couldn't handle.

Thankfully, Louie didn't have the same problem and had all the time in the world to finish his drink. He tentatively blew on the surface of the liquid before taking a slow sip, finally settling the cup between his hands to keep them warm before chancing a glance at his uncle.

"Thanks, uncle Donald," was all he said before he resigned to looking through the nook window and Donald followed his gaze. The calm, late September breeze rocked the houseboat gently, making it sway ever so slightly on the water, and causing small waves to rock the other boats docked at the pier.

Donald took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly before taking another drink of his coffee. It was so calm right now, so much calmer than it was, and it was almost hard to believe that the events from an hour ago were still so fresh on both their minds.

* * *

"Mrs. Yorkshire! That is beyond inappropriate and if you do not settle down, I will be forced to call school security and have you escorted off the grounds. Is that clear?"

Mrs. Yorkshire snorted her objection and began trying to reason with Merganser in her own defense, but Donald wasn't listening.

He was too absorbed in staring down at his nephew, all feeling in his body went numb as he stared at the growing bruise that covered Louie's right eye and was trailing down his cheek. The distorted skin coloring a sickly purple and blue.

For a split second, Donald forgot how to speak. How to even breathe. What was he angry about? Who was he yelling at? There was only one comprehensible thing going through Donald's mind.

Louie was hurt.

Louie was _hurt_.

 _ **Louie** was **hurt**._

And Donald wasn't there to protect him.

And like a tidal wave crashing down on him, Donald was filled with so much anger, scientifically speaking, he should have exploded.

"What is his punishment?" Donald barked, whirling around towards Merganser and Mrs. Yorkshire. Not caring in the slightest that he had just interrupted their heated conversation.

They both jumped at his sudden interjection and fell instantly silent, Merganser frowning at Donald in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Louie's punishment," Donald supplied immediately, the nails in his clenched hands digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. "For the fight. What is it?"

Merganser blinked in response, obviously not prepared to give her verdict so suddenly. Mrs. Yorkshire looked just as surprised by the sudden demand, but also looked positively intrigued to know as well, sitting back down in her chair with an air as if she had won her argument and was delighted to know that Louie was getting what _she_ thought he deserved.

Donald forced himself to stare at Merganser and not swing around to clock the fat woman out of her seat.

Merganser stared back at him for a few moments longer, before understanding dawned on her and she sighed tiredly. She sat back in her chair and took the position she was in before when Donald had first entered the room. Leaning forward into the desk, she grabbed a few papers out of one of her drawers and began filling them out.

"Week's suspension," she started, scribbling out the first form in rapid time before she flipped to another page. "Starting today Louie Duck and Gillian Yorkshire are suspended for a week due to misconduct on school property and with each other."

The smug air around Mrs. Yorkshire quickly turned icy cold at that last statement, and she nearly jumped out of her chair in protest. " _Excuse_ me? You can't be serious? _My_ son did absolutely nothing wrong! Why is he getting the same punishment as _this_ child!?"

"Mrs. Yorkshire, I see no marks on Gillian indicating any real damage obtained in the fight contrary to Louie Duck's black eye. Now, Mr. Duck's nephew may have started the fight Mrs. Yorkshire, but you can _not_ expect me to believe that your son didn't have a big part in ending it." Merganser all but snapped. And Donald was slightly impressed by how professional this woman could be while also basically telling her off. He would have allowed himself a small smile in gratitude if he wasn't still seething in anger. "Thus, since both boys had an equal hand in the quarrel, they both get the same discipline. They are still expected to continue schoolwork while away from class and I will inform their teachers and let them know to send coursework home for them through another classmate or via email. You will also receive a notice in the mail about the short term suspension code of conduct that will have more information if you have any questions or concerns."

She finished filling out one of the packets of paper. Stapling it, she handed it to Donald, not looking up at him as she continued to work on the second packet. "Is that understood?"

"Yes," Donald answered, taking the packet.

"No!" Exclaimed Mrs. Yorkshire. Her face flushing to a startling purple as she stood from her chair once again, this time with so much force she knocked it back to the floor. Little Gilly yelped in surprise. "This is an outrage! My son was only protecting himself! It was self-defense! And my son experienced emotional trauma from _that_ child! I'll have my lawyer hear about this if this isn't resolved! This isn't fair!"

 _Fair_? Donald scoffed internally as he handed the packet over to Louie. This woman, with her 300 dollar Chanel suit and moneybags of a husband didn't know the meaning of fair. Didn't know what Donald and his boys have had to go through to even get this far in life. What they had to sacrifice.

What they lost.

Life wasn't fair. And life made it a point to let Donald know that every second of every day.

"I'm taking Louie out of school early then," Donald announced over Mrs. Yorkshire's hissy fit, fishing out his keys from his jacket pocket and handing them to his youngest. "Go and grab your backpack kiddo. I'll meet you at the car once I check you out at the front desk."

Mrs. Yorkshire squawked her disapproval, but Donald ignored her, patting Louie on the shoulder and motioning for the door. Louie stood there anxiously, unsure of what to do as he held the packet to his chest, exchanging glances between Donald, the principal, and an angry Mrs. Yorkshire. However, once Principal Merganser nodded an 'ok' and Donald gave him a reassuring smile, he walked out the office door quietly, and Donald felt the pressure on his chest lighten just a fraction as he let out a sigh.

Then, faster than anyone could ever have predicted Donald to be able to move, he was nose to nose with Mrs. Yorkshire. Staring her down with so much intensity it was amazing she didn't burst into flames.

"Don't you _ever_ , talk about my boys like that. And don't you **_ever_** , talk about their mother or their situation in front of them again," Donald hissed through gritted teeth, keeping his arms and hands smartly to his sides and away from grabbing this woman's collar and shaking the ever-living daylights out of her.

"Their mother was one of the most amazing people on this planet. She was brilliant and courageous and loved so fiercely and strongly and with every bone in her body. She dedicated her entire life to helping people and making a better future for those boys. For _her_ boys. She loved them so much, more than anything in the world, and they will never get to know that." Donald _wasn't_ yelling, but his voice was shaking with so much raw passion and fury that it still got the point across as if he were screaming at the top of his lungs. "They'll never get to see her smile at their achievements or hear her laugh at their jokes. They'll never know what it's like to feel her arms around them or get her kisses goodnight when they're tucked into bed. And they'll never know just how proud she would be of them and how they turned out, despite people like you constantly telling them otherwise."

He was so angry, he was almost calm, which must have had its desired effect because both Mr. and Mrs. Yorkshire were staring at him with such wide-eyed expressions, unable to even comprehend a response as they processed all this new information Donald had spit at them. But he wasn't done.

"So don't you **_dare_ **talk about them like you know. Like you have any right to make a comment like that to their faces. You have _no idea_ what they've been through. And for your sake, I hope you never have to experience losing someone like that in your life."

With that, he straightened his posture and his necktie, turning his attention towards Principal Merganser, who was just as surprised by the outburst as the Yorkshires. Having stopped midway through filling out the packet on her desk as she stared at Donald.

"Principal Merganser." Donald nodded in farewell, before turning on his heel and towards the office door.

"Well I never-," was all Donald cared to hear from the fat woman as he closed the office door behind him and headed down the hallway back towards the front desk. Miss Gadwell holding out the checkout clipboard for him.

* * *

The car ride back to the houseboat was spent entirely in silence. Neither Louie or Donald knew how to start the conversation, the incident still too raw and powerful in both of their minds for either of them to know what to do with. As soon as they got home, Donald resorted to being the busybody he was when he was tense, and instructed Louie to sit at the kitchen nook while he fetched the bag of peas from the freezer.

 _10 minutes on, 10 minutes off._ He had said, as he then went to get them some warm drinks to fill in the time and to set the mood into a more comfortable atmosphere.

And that's where they were now. Sitting together in silence as they watched the gentle waves bob the other docked boats on the pier. Late September clouds weaved in and out before the sun, continuously casting the city into moments of darkness. One big cloud came into view and seemed to take up a good portion of the sky, hiding the sun from view and making it look like a storm was coming.

Donald chose this time to finally address his nephew.

"Louie. What happened?" He asked soothingly, putting down his cup of coffee and folding his arms on the table surface. "It's not like you to pick a fight, let alone _tackle_ a kid. Which by the way, you'll have to tell me your secret because I don't even think _I_ could have taken on a kid that big."

Donald tried to crack a joke, but the attempt went right over Louie's head as the green-clad triplet just sank deeper into his seat and sweatshirt, his eyes now downcasted on the marshmallows bobbing in and out of his cocoa.

Donald sighed sadly, leaning forward in his booth seat. "Come on buddy, you need to talk to me about what happened. I promise I'm not mad, I'm just worried about you kiddo."

Louie's eyes immediately shot up and met Donald's, his brow furrowed sadly. "I didn't mean to make you worried. And you can be mad at me if you want to. It's because of me you had to miss your important meeting, even when you told me, like, a billion times not to get into trouble today."

"A billion times seems accurate," Donald agreed, not admitting that he honestly had forgotten all about the meeting. "But that's not important to me right now. You are. And I won't get mad. I just want to know what's wrong, Louie. Why did you get in a fight with this Gillian kid?"

Louie kept eye contact with Donald, and he must have realized that Donald meant what he said because he relaxed his shoulders and sighed. Thumbing the rim of his mug as he lowered his eyes back down onto his drink.

"It... it wasn't worth it. I shouldn't have let it bother me but," Louie frowned, probably replaying the incident with Gillian in his mind before growling in frustration. Throwing his hands into the air in defeat. "Ugh! He just kept talking, Uncle Donald. He couldn't just stop while he was ahead! He just kept having to take it one step further! Just like his dumb mom!"

If this was any other instance, Donald would have lectured him for talking like that about someone's mother. But, considering how the mom in question was Mrs. Yorkshire, Donald was all for letting the comment slide. Especially since he was thinking of calling her about a hundred worse names.

Donald frowned, leaning even further in his seat. "What did he say?"

Louie sighed again, about to reach up and rub his face with his hands, but remembering the still very tender black eye, thought better of it. Seeing this action sent a pang of guilt through Donald's chest.

"Just... ugh. He was picking on Huey. During lunch. Just the regular stupid stuff. Saying that he was a loser for thinking he could get onto the football team. That he wasn't even good enough to be the team's waterboy." Louie all but growled, running a hand through his hair.

Donald remembered when Huey first mentioned he was going to try out for the elementary team. How excited he had been. Honestly, Donald wasn't too keen on the idea. Football, even if it was just an elementary school division, was dangerous. They weren't exactly small for their age, but his boys weren't exactly the biggest and beefiest kids either. Huey could seriously get hurt.

But he had been so eager and animated about it. And if Donald let Dewey play soccer, then he had no real reason not to be supportive of Huey and let him play football. He didn't have it in his heart to let him down. So he rented the football DVDs and instructional books Huey had asked for and bought him his own football that he could practice within the park.

Donald was never the sporty type, with his luck he probably would have had a lot more concussions and broken limbs growing up. But Dewey was, and he had been so willing to help Huey learn how to play. Louie wasn't much for sports either, but he liked tagging along to the park with them. And if he filmed Donald getting hit in the head with the football too many times, well, if it made him smile, then he was more than willing to ignore it. As long as it didn't end up online.

People haven't pointed him out on the streets and laughed though, so it was safe to say he hadn't become internet famous.

Yet.

And when Huey had announced he had made the team during dinner one night, well that had been just about the most excited and cheerful he had seen his family up to date. And even if he _was_ only the water boy, he was still happy to be getting a uniform and to be part of a team. And since Donald wouldn't have to be worried about Huey getting hurt as the water boy, he was all for paying for the equipment and sports fees. Even if that meant he had to take a few extra shifts at his pencil pushing job to pay for it.

If his boys were happy, he was happy.

"Huey ignored him like it was second nature. He's always been good at tuning out bullies and not letting that stuff get to him." Louie said, bringing Donald back from his temporary reminisce. "But Gil made the mistake of saying all that junk in front of Dewey and me. And Dewey and me aren't that good at letting stuff like that go."

"Dewey and I," Donald corrected out of habit and allowed himself a small smile when Louie rolled his eyes. His regular self coming back.

"Anyway, Dewey made a whole deal about it. Demanded Gil take back what he said or get ready for an old-fashioned butt kicking."

"Wait, Dewey was gonna fight him?"

"Yeah, originally. But I was pretty sure Gil was going to be the butt kicker if that played out. Kid's built like a brick wall."

"And so you decided to take your brother's place instead because you stand _so much_ of a better chance at not getting your butt kicked?" Donald asked, raising a skeptical brow.

"Yeah, no, that... that wasn't part of the original plan," Louie answered, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I wasn't planning on tackling the jerk."

Donald pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and absentmindedly tapped the top of the table with his other. "What part of, " _don't pick a fight and don't get in trouble,_ " did you boys not understand?"

"All of it! Which was why I came up with a better plan!" Louie said defensively, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. "I knew Gil wasn't going to back down and neither was Dewey. A fight was inevitable. So I stepped in and said that they should hold off fighting till the end of the school day when there were fewer teachers around to intervene. The back of the bleachers seemed like a better showdown scene than in the middle of the crowded lunchroom."

"Having your brother fight in a secluded area away from adult eyes where he could have been seriously hurt was your better plan? To change the time and place?" Donald questioned. The worry and anxiety building up inside him again at the mere thought of it. If they had the extra money, he would have quit his jobs long ago and just homeschooled the boys. At this rate, they were going to give him gray hairs before he was 35.

"Of course not, Uncle Donald," Louie rolled his eyes again and frowned at his uncle for even suggesting that. "That was just a decoy to get Dewey away from rocks for brains until I could get to him."

"So you could fight him."

"No! And again, wasn't the original plan."

"And what was?"

"To talk to him."

"Really?" Donald asked, not buying it. And Louie played with his hoodie sting before finally giving in.

"Ok, to blackmail him."

 _Ahh, there it was_. There was the Louie he knew and loved. _That_ was the Louie he was used to.

"Louie," Donald began but stopped when Louie threw his hands up to stop him.

"I know! I know, ok? And you can lecture me all you want after this," Louie compromised, before sighing. Rubbing his one good eye in exhaustion. "But I wasn't going to just allow him to get away with making fun of Huey. Or let him beat up Dewey and possibly get in trouble and then have you get caught up in it too and possibly miss your important meeting."

Louie paused, and Donald could tell he was remembering the events to follow by how his fists began to clench into little balls. "So I met up with him at recess. Huey was inside working on some homework thing with a teacher and Dewey was on the other side of the playground playing kickball. It was the perfect time to talk to him, to negotiate. Try to get him to apologize, or even reconsider fighting Dewey. I threatened to tell everyone in the school about how he still wets the bed if he didn't back off from my brother's. But-."

"But?"

Louie's clenched hands started to shake as a dark expression crossed over his face, and Donald had to resist reaching over the table and grabbing his hands to stop them from trembling.

"But... but then he... I don't know, I guess he started to panic or something, cause then he tried badmouthing us again. All three of us. Tried to one-up me, maybe, I don't know. But I guess he could see that calling us nerds or losers wasn't really going to get under my skin, so he started poking at the fact that were technically orphans and how our parents didn't want us and he-," Louie paused and scratched his nose in annoyance, not meeting Donald's gaze. "He started making fun of mom."

Donald felt his chest squeeze painfully again, just like it had before when Mrs. Yorkshire had mentioned the same thing earlier that day. And the same rage encased him again as he realized just what Louie had to go through, and understanding why he did what he did.

"And that's when you tackled him," Donald said in defeated understanding and almost jumped when Louie turned his head sharply towards his direction and locked eyes angrily with him.

"No. That's when I told him to shut his fat, stupid mouth while he was ahead before I shut it for him." Louie snapped.

Donald blinked. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure when Louie wasn't giving further explanation. He sighed and held his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes and face in tired confusion. " So, wait then, when did you tackle him?"

"When he started bad mouthing you."

This time, when Donald snapped his head up towards his nephew, it was to see that Louie wouldn't meet is his gaze. The kid staring at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them, a pained and angry expression darkening his face.

"W- _what_?" Donald asked in barely a whisper, too surprised to think of something smarter and more put together to say.

Because he wasn't prepared for the tidal wave that was about to come crashing down on him.

"He started saying all this mean stuff about you and I... I don't know, I was just so, _so_ angry. And he wouldn't shut up and I saw red and before I knew it, I was on top of him. But before I could do anything, he socked me in the eye and I fell backwards and then the duties came and dragged us into the principals office and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I begged them not to call you cause I knew how important this meeting was to you but they did it anyway and it's my fault and I'm really sorry Uncle Donald, I'm so sorry and-."

There was no way Donald could hold himself back any longer even if he had wanted to as he closed the distance between them in record time. Scooting himself around the nook bench till he was side by side his nephew and pulling him into a hug.

"Louie, _sweetheart_ , it's ok. Breathe. Just breathe. You're hyperventilating kiddo," Donald soothed, wrapping his arms tightly around Louie and began rubbing smooth circles into his back. He ignored the feel of tears soak through his nice work shirt or the way his heart squeezed painfully when Louie's small, trembling hands fisted the folds of his clothes like they were a lifeline. Shaking with enough force to rival an earthquake as the kid fought for air between his sobs.

They sat there for what felt like an eternity, Donald rubbing his nephew's back and whispering quiet comforts to him. And Donald would have easily sat there for an eternity longer if Louie needed him too. Because it would break his heart even more to do anything _but_ comfort and calm his nephew.

Eventually, though, the heavy set sobs turned into quiet whimpers, which after a bit, just became heavy breathing and hiccups. Only when Donald thought it was safe for both of them, he pulled Louie away and faced him. His arms still connecting around Louie's shoulders, ready to pull him back in if need be, as he stared at his nephew.

"Feel better?" Donald asked, allowing himself a small smile and a breath of relief when Louie nodded his head slowly, sniffing loudly. Donald pulled on the cuff of his shirt with his right hand and wiped the tears streaks running down Louie's cheek, being especially careful around the black eye. "Good."

He sighed again and ran that same hand through his hair, not caring if he messed it up, even if it had taken him an hour making it up this morning.

This wasn't in any of the parenting books Donald's read over the years. And he's just about read every one ever published. How could it be though? What other parents had to deal with their kids getting into fights defending _them_? _Of course_ , he was probably the only guardian in the world who would have to deal with something like this. _Of course_ , this was only a Donald Duck problem. His bad luck wouldn't expect anything less to make Donald's life that much harder.

Of course, if the trade up for an easier life meant giving up his nephews, well, then Donald didn't mind the extra challenge.

"Thank you, Louie. For sticking up for me, and for your brothers. You have no idea how proud I am of you for that," Donald started with a smile. Because it was true, Donald was proud, as well as happy. As an uncle. But as a parental figure, _their_ parental figure, he was also extremely upset. "But I don't _ever_ want you to put yourself in harm's way for me again. Is that clear?"

Louie scrunched up his face, his swollen eye making it a bit difficult, as he stared at Donald.

"Why not? You'd do the same for me."

"In half a heartbeat." Donald agreed.

"So why can't I do the same for you?" Louie argued.

"Because I'm the adult, Louie. And you're the kid," Donald responded coolly, running a hand through his nephew's bangs to get a better look at his face. "And I need you to understand that you can't ever compare those two responsibilities equally."

He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day when Louie's confused frown deepened into something more stubborn and iron-willed. And he'd have to berate himself later for just how much these kids were turning out to be just like him when he was little. And how much they reminded him of _her_.

"I know you just want to protect your family. You have a big heart, Louie. Just like your mom. But I gotta know that I can trust you to make the smarter decision and not put yourself at risk of getting hurt because of it." _Just like your mom_. Donald pushed that painful thought away to the back of his mind. Now wasn't the time.

"I just need you kids to be safe, ok? To me, nothing is more important than your safety and your happiness. Nothing is worth more than that to me."

Because truth be told, Donald probably couldn't handle seeing Louie hurt again. Or see any of his boys hurt at all. His heart couldn't take another blow like that. His tolerance for that kinda pain was already worn so thin.

He already lost his sister.

He'd be damned if he was going to let anything happen to his boys.

"So no more fights. Got it? If there's a bully bugging you, or if _anything_ is bothering you, you need to go talk to a teacher or talk to me," Donald said, smiling reassuringly and his heart just about soared a thousand feet when Louie returned it. "So no more scheming behind my back. And no more trying to deal with it by yourself. If there's a problem, we deal with it together. Deal?"

"Deal." Louie agreed, and willingly let himself get pulled into another hug from Donald, Louie falling into it easily like a seasoned pro and returned the same amount of strength to it as Donald was.

When they pulled away, Donald settled for leaning back in his seat. His arm resting comfortably over the top of the nook bench with Louie snug to his side, returning to finishing off his probably now lukewarm hot chocolate. They watched the scenery outside the window in silence. The gentle waves continued to make the boats on the pier bob on the water. The large cloud from earlier finally pushed away from the sun, and the early afternoon light poured through the window with warmth and contentment, making the ocean water outside sparkle like silver treasure.

"There can be a little scheming, right? Just for, like, kicks and giggles?" Louie interrupted. And Donald couldn't help himself to a small, tired smile.

"Louie," Donald warned, not looking away from the window.

"Right, right, got it. No scheming. Promise." Louie said, and if Donald noticed the crossed fingers Louie hid behind his back, he expertly ignored it.

Hiding a chuckle, he stretched out on the bench, his feet just barely poking out from the other side of the table, before leaning forward and catching Louie's eye.

"It's still pretty early. Why don't we go get some ice cream and wait for your brothers to get out of school?" Donald asked, and was rewarded for the suggestion when Louie's eyes sparkled in excitement.

"You mean it?"

"Yeah. Go hang up your backpack in your room and wash your face first, and then we'll head out."

Louie practically bounced off the bench, grabbing his backpack that was stored underneath the table and racing towards the ladder that led to his and boy's rooms downstairs. "Thanks, Uncle Donald!"

"And make sure to put that packet the principal gave us in my room! I want to look over it tonight! You're still technically in trouble for getting suspended!" Donald called out after him in vain. Shaking his head, he got up from the table nook as well and was about to put away their mugs when a small beeping sound emanated from his pants. He paused to dig around in his pocket, finally pulling out his smartphone and tapping the screen to reveal a text message from an unknown number.

Curious, Donald slid his finger over the screen to read what it said.

 ** _This is Sarah Gadwell. Thought you and Louie would appreciate this._**

Attached to the message was a single picture, and Donald couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

Mrs. Yorkshire, in all her loud and obnoxious glory, was being escorted to her car by the school's security guards. Donald even noticed the P.E teacher, who also coached Dewey's soccer team, was helping to drag the raging woman off the grounds. She was in mid-rant, her face as purple as Louie's black eye, and her hair was all disheveled and falling in front of her squinted eyes. Her matching lime green hat missing in action.

Donald had to remember to bring Sarah Gadwell a muffin from that famous pastry shop he remembered she loved the next time he was at the school. Hopefully, for his sake, he'd give it to her under better circumstances.

"Hey, do you think we could go to Little Viking's Pizza for dinner tonight? Dewey and I have been saving up newspaper tokens for that new claw machine in the arcade, and Huey thinks he's figured out a way to move the claw so that it gets one of the bigger prizes." Louie asked, striding up beside Donald. Donald raised an eyebrow at the slightly damp bangs that hung in front of his face, obviously the victims of a rushed face washing job.

"Just because we're getting ice cream doesn't mean you're still not in a whole _heck-of-a-lotta_ trouble, kiddo," Donald mused, sweeping the wet hair from Louie's forehead.

"Oh come, please? I cried and got a black eye and everything," Louie begged. Widening those blue eyes in a puppy dog pout that usually made Donald cave. Well, widening one of those eyes, at least. The other one kind of stayed pathetically swollen. Which, honestly, made Donald cave even harder than usual.

Though, he'd never admit that to his nephew.

"You're lucky pizza sounds really good to me right now. Otherwise, I'd be taking this suspension punishment a lot more seriously," Donald gave in, and nearly toppled over when Louie practically tackled his middle in a hug. Donald laughed and pulled away, pointing to the bag of peas still on the table. "Help me put away this stuff and then we'll go. Sound good?"

"Sounds good." Louie parroted, grabbing the bag of peas and the dishtowel and walking to the kitchen.

Donald looked back at the picture on his phone, and immediately saved it and the contact number before grabbing the two mugs and following his nephew to the kitchen. He'd make sure to show it to Louie in the car later on that day, in case he wanted to ever use it for blackmail purposes.

Donald paused at the thought. Blackmail wasn't considered in the same category as scheming, was it? He gave it one last second of thought before shrugging.

Eh, he'd burn that bridge when he got there.

Once the mugs were rinsed and put in the sink for further cleaning later on that night, Donald met Louie by the houseboat entrance. Locking the door behind him, both Duck boys began walking down the wooden dock towards Donald's parked car, chatting amiably about what flavors of ice cream they were in the mood for.

"By the way, you never told us what kind of meeting you were going to, or why it was so important," Louie asked as they got into the car, and Donald had to hide the fact that he almost dropped his keys at the sudden subject change. "Was it for work? Was it ok that you had to leave early?"

Donald gulped and started the engine, hoping Louie didn't notice how tightly his hands gripped the steering wheel.

"Don't worry about it," Donald dismissed, eager to change the subject to literally anything else on the planet. "It wasn't a huge deal. I'll just have to reschedule it is all. It's not a problem."

And Louie believed it, finding the answer Donald supplied was good enough and went back to talking about the different flavors of ice cream and what tasted better with nuts. And Donald was glad he believed that it wasn't a problem.

Because he was having a difficult enough time as it was trying to convince himself.

It was hard enough scheduling the meeting with social services without looking like he was too busy with his two jobs to dedicate any time to talk about his kids. It was true, sort of, but Donald wasn't about to let that be a point in their favor against him. He had to pull a _bunch_ of strings and promised to take up the extra shifts throughout the upcoming weeks, but he was able to take the day off from work so that he could appear prepared and ready for anything in front of the childcare workers.

He wasn't prepared, however, for the call from his kid's principal. How could he be?

Trick question. He couldn't. Add it to the freaking list of things he could chalk up to his rotten luck.

But fine. It was ok. Even if he'd been marked down for it and his sudden dismissal probably brought even further the questioning of his parental skills, he'd be fine. _They_ were going to be fine. They were going to get through this, even if Donald had to now work even more and fight even harder for the custody of his boys, it was going to be fine.

It had to be.

Because he already lost half of himself ten years ago.

He wasn't about to lose the only things that were making him whole again.

And right now they were happy. Louie was laughing in the passenger seat next to him, his black eye and events from today all but forgotten, as they were about to go pick up his brothers that were only going to triple that joy.

And they _were_ fine. And good.

And happy.

And Donald was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.


	4. Shaking Hands Chapter 4 (End of arc)

**_This is in Louie's point of view! Last chapter for the Shaking Hands Arc. Check after the story for whats more to come!_**

* * *

Thankfully, they were standing next to a table. Otherwise, Louie's lunch tray would have ended up on the cafeteria floor in his speed to grab the hem of his brother's shirt to hold him back.

Huey didn't mean to run into Gillian Yorkshire, clearly, if he had the choice, he would have steered as far away from the jerk as possible. And Huey obviously would have _much_ rather ate that chocolate pudding than to see it spill all over Gil's flashy shoes, which probably cost more than their uncle's houseboat.

But Dewey had made a dumb joke that made both his brothers laugh, distracting Huey and putting them in the predicament they were in now. With Huey on the floor, picking up what was salvageable from his lunch and smartly ignoring Gil towering over him, throwing pointed sneers and snide comments at him, while Louie did everything in his earthly power to keep Dewey from full-on murdering the dude.

"Honestly, you're lucky Coach Boxer even let you be the team's water boy," Gil was saying, not hiding his disgusted look as he stared down at his pudding covered shoes. "You're so clumsy and tiny, if he had put you on the field, they would have mistaken you for the football and try to kick you through the goal posts."

"Oh _please_ , let me hit me," Dewey was begging through his clenched teeth, not bothering to hide the contempt for the bully as he struggled against Louie's pull. "Just one, solid punch to the throat. That's all I'm asking for."

"The throat?" Louie grunted in question, noticing his sneakers slide against the cafeteria floor in vain of stopping Dewey as he dragged them both towards their older brother. _They were exactly the same build, how was he so -freakishly- much stronger than him?_ "Not the _first_ body part I'd go for."

"Dude's stupid tall. Can't reach his fat nose," Dewey answered quickly, tugging at Louie's arms that were now wrapped around his stomach. "And would you lay off already? Why are you trying to stop me from uppercutting the moron."

"Because, Dew-fus, with your luck, you'll get caught fighting and get detention. Then the teachers are gonna call Uncle Donald and with our luck, he'll kill us all," Louie ranted, focusing more on stopping his brother than with his persuasion skills. "Uncle Donald literally told us to do one thing today, and that was to not get into trouble. You know he has that important meeting today. Do you really want to risk getting the mother of all groundings?"

Louie stopped for a split second in thought, just close enough to hear Huey and Gil bicker to each other.

"I told you, it was an accident. I said I was sorry Gil, I don't know what else you want from me." Huey rolled his eyes, paying no attention to the dark glare that flashed on the bully's face as he stood over him.

Dewey and Louie saw it though.

"How about for you to know your place, birdbrain," and with a quick kick of his foot, sent the giant glob of pudding on his shoe directly into Huey's face, causing him to fall backwards from his kneeling position and rub his eyes and face frantically. "Which is out of the big leagues and out of _my_ way."

He snorted, and turned his back on the red-clad triplet, joining his snickering friends at their table. Louie could feel Dewey's entire body shake.

"You know," Dewey snarled in a low tone, hands clenching into hard fists. "Forget getting grounded. I'd risk murder charges."

"You're right," Louie mimicked in that same tone, scowling as he immediately let his brother go.

Because Huey could be annoying in his own right. He was a bit ( _meaning a lot_ ) of a know it all, and kinda ( _meaning almost_ _definitely_ ) clueless about sneaking things behind their uncle Donald's back. He could be way too innocent sometimes, was the worst improvised liar on the planet and could be so _stubbornly_ optimistic that it was obnoxious.

And they could drive each other crazy. They irked and annoyed each other and could chase each other up walls as tall as skyscrapers if the mood was right. They fought, argued, played pranks, and smacked each other on nearly a daily basis. They were brothers, after all. _Triplets_. Getting on each other's nerves was practically in their biological coding.

Which also meant that they would just as easily die for one another in a heartbeat.

And, that they were the only ones that could bully each other. If anyone so much as dared trespass on that territory, well, that was proclaiming war.

And they were about to make Gillian Yorkshire regret he didn't wave a white flag sooner.

"Have at him."

And in the time it took Louie to blink, Dewey had all but cleared the distance between the two and was already grabbing the back of Gil's shirt, whirling him around with enough force to spin him like a toy top. For a kid who often complained about his backpack being too heavy to carry at the end of the day, he could easily wield a powerful amount of inner strength if he needed to. Louie would have to remember this for future use.

"What's your damage, man?" Louie growled, fisting the front of Gil's shirt. Gil glared down at Louie, but more out of annoyance than actual loathing, like he had earlier with Huey.

"Back off, soccer ball. This isn't your beef." Gil frowned, roughly brushing off Dewey's hand. He tried to walk away but Dewey was quick at grabbing Gil's attention again.

"Ohh, you made it my beef the _second_ you touched him," Dewey said, quickly motioning his head in Huey's direction. "Now check yourself before you wreck yourself, Yorkshire. Apologize to him. _Now_."

"Apologize?" A dark expression crossed Gil's face, as he exchanged glances between the brothers. "Or what?"

"Or?" Dewey blinked and raised an irritated brow. "Or nothing. I'm not giving you an option B, helmet head. Apologize."

"And what if I don't want to?" Yorkshire said, crossing his fat arms and standing up to his full fight, which Louie notices with disdain is _much_ taller than he remembered him being about 10 seconds ago. As he kneeled down to help pick Huey off his butt, he was sorta regretting letting his other brother charge forward to face off against the monster of all 4th graders. Dewey however, didn't seem the least bit dissuaded.

"Then we're gonna have issues, Yorky." Dewey answered, crossing his own arms in defiance.

 _Uh-oh_. This was quickly escalating into everything Louie did not want it to escalate too. Huey, thankfully, seemed to notice the issue as well.

"It's not worth it. It's fine. Let's just go," Huey said, still rubbing the pudding off of his face. The bottom of his shirt was stained a nasty brown color. In the back of Louie's mind, a little voice told him that his uncle was _not_ going to be pleased about that stain. He told the little voice to shut up.

There were more pressing matters at hand. Because Dewey saw the stain as well, and a vexed expression flashed across his face as he whirled on Gil. Throwing clenched hands to his side.

Because it _wasn't_ fine. Not in the slightest.

"Just say the word Hue, and I'll rip the unibrow clean off his ugly face," Dewey growled and Louie held his breath.

 _Don't turn this into a fight. Don't turn this into a fight._ Louie all but chanted in his mind.

Gil laughed in response. "Pffft! Yeah, I'd like to see you try, _Goose_." Gil unfolded his arms and took a step forward. Louie all but swallowed the breath he'd been holding.

 _It's turning into a fight. Oh god, it's turning into a fight._ Louie tried to catch Dewey's attention, signaling him to do just about anything but what he was about to do.

Of course, Dewey ignored him.

"It's Duck," Dewey corrected bitterly and rolled up his sleeves. "And for that, you're about to see me do a _lot_ more than try, Yorky."

Faster then Louie had ever thought or acted before, he did about the stupidest thing he had ever done in all his 9 years.

He stepped in between them.

"Wait a second," he managed to muster up in a tone that was slightly better than borderline pathetic. Before he could say anything else in his defense, Dewey rudely pushed him back.

"Move, Lou, I got this," Dewey said, but Louie wasn't about to let this go on any further than it needed to. He understood Dewey's determination. You just don't get away with messing with one of his brothers. Louie completely understood that. But in that same line of thinking, he wasn't about to let his other brother get beat up in the process either. If they were gonna go about this, they had to play it smarter than Huey's passiveness and Dewey's aggression. Thankfully, Louie's always been quick on his feet when it came to BS-ing their way out of a situation.

"No you don't," Louie added, an idea quickly forming in his head as Gil shoved himself further towards him and Dewey.

"How much more of this flock am I going to have to go through before I can finish my lunch," Gil growled, and Louie had to push Dewey's chest to keep him at bay while the gears in his head turned.

"Easy Porkchop," Louie directed at Gil, easing his hand up in defense for added effect. "Before you two go at it like the _civil_ people you are," Louie murmured sarcastically. "Look around."

Both Gil and Dewey glared at him for a number of seconds, before finally looking up and noticing their surroundings.

Almost every kid in the cafeteria was looking at them now. They still talked amongst each other, keeping the large room alive with sound and idle chatter, which helped to draw away the attention of the staff and teachers walking about. But all their attention was undoubtedly on them, watching and waiting for the inevitable fight to happen.

Just like Louie had hoped, that seemed to sober both of them up long enough for Louie to draw their attention elsewhere.

"Do you really want to fight in the middle of a crowded cafeteria? With all these witnesses around? Think about it. You'll just get into trouble with a teacher and that solves nothing." Gil kept his focus on the area around him, suddenly keenly aware of the attention he was getting. Dewey turned his attention to Louie.

"Lou, he started beef with Huey. I'm not about to walk," he hissed. And as much as Louie loved his brother, even though he would never verbally admit it out loud, it was moments like this that he wished the dummy would get a clue.

"I get that Dewey," Louie hissed back, unintentionally grabbing Gil's attention. He cleared his throat and stood up straight, mentally standing up the dominoes for his next plan of action as he faced the two. "So I propose an atonement."

"Louie," Huey warned anxiously, but Louie just nodded and flashed him a quick, ' _don't worry I got this_ ', smile.

He hoped his smile was more convincing then how he actually felt.

"After school. Behind the soccer field bleachers. No one goes back there till four, and it's far away enough so that no teachers will see or notice you duking it out." It was a simple enough plan. He knew for a fact that the location and time were perfect for these kinds of things, having used the area himself for more sketchy exchanges. Sometimes for information. Sometimes for candy trafficking. Sometimes both. And sometimes, he would simply just go back there to relax and have some precious _me_ time that was so rare to come by when you lived with 2 noisy brothers and an overprotective uncle.

"No backup, no weapons. Just a good oldfashioned slugfest. Deal?" Louie asked cooly, folding his hands into his sweatshirt pocket and ignoring how fast his heart was racing if either one of them decided to knock over the trail of dominoes he was building.

Gil snorted and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Deal." He answered, leaning close to Dewey so that they were practically face to face. "Get ready to eat your words, _Duck_. Next time, your little brother won't be around to save your butt."

Dewey glared with enough ferocity to light Gil's hair on fire. "Just don't chicken out on me, Porky. Then we'll see who will be eating what."

Gil huffed in anger like he would have loved nothing more than to pounce on Dewey then and there. Thankfully, he decided against it and turned back towards his friends who seemed more than disappointed that he came back without throwing some fists around. Dewey turned towards Louie and was about to open his mouth before Huey walked up to them with a practically empty lunch tray and a thoughtful, "you idiots."

Both Louie and Dewey turned towards him, and he shook his head in exasperation. Louie noticed some chocolate pudding was still stuck to his hair. "Don't fight him, Dewey. I told you, it's not worth it. _He's_ not worth it."

"Of course he isn't," Dewey agreed, and slung his arm over their older brother's shoulder. "But you are, without a doubt. And no one messes with _my_ brother."

"You mess with me all the time," Huey commented, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, that just comes with the territory of being _your_ brother," Dewey grinned and pulled the tray out of Huey's hands before the older triplet could smack him playfully with it. "Don't worry your ugly little face about it, Huey. I've got everything under control."

"We're identical, moron. He has the same face as you," Louie commented, noticing Huey rub his face in exhaustion.

"You say that, but there he is and here _I_ am," Dewey gestured to himself with one hand, and gave a, what he would probably consider, devilishly handsome and smug grin as he walked back towards the end of the lunch line. "You two go grab a spot, I'll get you some more lunch. With my charm, the lunch lady will have no problem giving me an extra pudding cup."

And as if that explanation solved everything, he strutted away, leaving Huey and Louie behind to wonder how exactly they were related to him.

"He's gonna get his butt royally handed to him unless we do something about it," Huey sighed, hugging his middle. Louie resisted the urge to wipe off the chocolate pudding sticking to his hair in an awkward position as he rested his arm on top of his older brother's shoulders.

"Yeah, he would. But don't worry, I have a plan," he said, and gave Huey a reassuring smirk when the triplet shot a questionable brow at him. "I know that's what Dew-fus said, but trust me. _I've_ got everything under control."

* * *

 _I've got nothing under control._ Louie thought as he walked out onto the playground, worrying his hoodie string between his teeth. He wandered over to one of the swingsets and parked himself in an empty seat, not bothering to propel himself forward as he berated himself internally.

How could he have it under control? All he did was make it so that his brother didn't get beaten to a pulp in the middle of the cafeteria. He did nothing to actually stop the fight, let alone stop his own brother. And even though he avoided getting Dewey in trouble, who's to say they wouldn't get caught after the fight. Pretty sure a 9-year-old with a broken nose would get easily spotted around school grounds. Not to mention their uncle would certainly notice.

 _Oh god. Uncle Donald_.

Uncle Donald will just about have a heart attack and a half if he has to be called into the school because of them. Louie had no idea what his meeting was about today. But the date had been circled on his calendar for some time now, **_10:30 CC meeting at SS, room 103_** written in offending bright red marker. He had tried to decode it, but all his uncle had said on the matter was that this was an extremely important meeting, and if he had to miss it, well, he hadn't exactly _said_ he would do bodily harm to them, but Louie knew well enough that there were certain buttons you just didn't press if you wanted to keep breathing the next day.

And as much as he liked pushing his uncle's patience to the limits, he wasn't really looking for a death wish.

Louie groaned in irritation as he rubbed his face with both hands. He needed a plan. He needed to stop the fight from ever happening. He could convince Dewey to not meet up with Gil easily, having enough dirt on his brother to be able to steer him far away from a fight.

It was Gil he had to worry about. Gil, he had to convince not to fight. If only he had some kinda dirt on _him_ to make him think twice about going after his brothers. Some kind of blackmail-

Louie snapped his head up from his hands, eyes growing wide.

He quickly scanned the large playground, looking for familiar dark hair that would help form the plan that was taking shape in his mind, the domino pieces lining up nicely.

He finally spotted the person he was looking for standing against a tree off in the corner of the playground, the shade almost hiding them completely. Louie bolted off this swing seat and make a beeline for the tree, only slowing down once he was close enough to grab the person's attention.

"Imelda Mindoro," Louie said casually, his hands resting comfortably in his sweatshirt pocket. The girl looked up slowly, a smile spreading across her lips when she met Louie's gaze.

"Louie Duck," she answered, putting the small notebook she had in her hands into her back pocket. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a favor," Louie said. Imelda's smile grew wider.

"Does it have to do with that almost showdown in the cafeteria earlier today?"

"You saw that," Louie commented, noticing Imelda shrug innocently as she continued to lean into the tree.

"The whole school saw that. By the by, nice deescalating the sitch with changing the location to the soccer field bleachers. Mr. Matheys was on duty, and your brother would have had serious detention if he had noticed _that_ fight."

"How do you know about the bleachers?" Louie asked. He was startled, but not surprised that she knew. Imelda rolled her eyes.

"Pah-lease. Like the lackies that follow Yorkshire around can keep a secret." The ' _from me_ ' ending of that sentence was left unsaid, but Louie got the picture.

"Well since you're up to date. I need your help." Louie rubbed the back of his neck. Making a deal with Mindoro was always tricky, she wasn't exactly the most trustworthy person, but she was the best person to help him with what he needed. And he was willing to put out what she wanted if she was able to help him. "I need to make sure that fight doesn't happen. Like, at all."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Be specific."

"Information," Louie assured. "I just need some dirt on Yorkshire to make him back off."

"Awwww, aren't you sweet," she cooed, placing a hand on her heart for added effect. "You don't want your brother to get hurt by the big, mean football jock."

 _Or get grounded for the rest of my life if my uncle ever finds out about it. But yeah sure, let's go with brotherly love._ Louie thought.

"Do you have what I need, or not?" Louie sighed exhaustedly.

"Depends on if you have what _I_ want or not." She parroted, that lazy smile back on her lips.

"What do you have in mind?" Louie asked, and was not prepared for her to suddenly straighten her position and walk towards him.

"You've always been good about keeping your word," she purred, standing awkwardly close to Louie. "Tell you what. I'll give you the dirt you need. But if I ever need you to do something for me, whether it be tomorrow or a few years from now, you'll do it, no questions asked. Deal?"

Louie thought about it for a moment, but to be perfectly honest, if she had the info he needed, then he really didn't have the option to consider the bargain. "Deal." He said, shaking her outstretched hand.

She smiled greedily and fetched the small notebook from earlier out of her pocket. She flipped through the pages of it with expertise until she finally rested on a page closer to the back.

"Ahh, here we go, Gillian Yorkshire." She said skimming through the contents of the small page before grinning deviously. "This ought to help you. He still wets the bed practically every night."

Louie blinked in surprise. "Really? Gillian Yorkshire?"

"Yeah. And it doesn't seem like much, but trust me. You throw that at him and it'll knock him down a couple pegs. Dude's crazy self-conscious about it." She replied, flipping her notebook closed and stuffing it back into her pocket. "Hope that helps."

"Yeah, it does. Thanks a bunch Mindoro," Louie said and began walking away when a sudden thought struck him and caused him to stop and turn around. "Quick question, do you have every kid in the school in there?"

Imelda crossed her arms and went back to leaning on the tree. "Only the ones that are useful to me."

"Am _I_ in there?" Louie asked, and was answered only with a simple, sly smile.

"Good luck with Yorkshire, Duck. You're gonna need it."

* * *

"Was that a threat, _shorty_?" Gil growled in a low tone, his massive stature practically dwarfing Louie in comparison as he towered over him.

It wasn't hard finding him. Other kids tended to steer far away from Yorkshire and his buddies, and they usually hung around the bushes at the far end of the playground during recess. Louie, wasn't like the other kids though and had made a straight line towards them.

He had just barely managed to convince Yorkshire to step away for a quick second so he could give him the ultimatum in private. Because Louie was a lot of things, like lazy and a bit directionally challenged, but he certainly wasn't stupid. If this deal went south for the winter, one massive bully was easier to deal with than a whole flock of them.

"Well, it certainly isn't a bluff." Louie had managed to say in a calm voice, despite his knees threatening to buckle under him.

Gil breathed heavily through his nose. If this was a cartoon, steam would have been coming out of his nostrils. "I don't like threats, Duck."

"And I don't like my brothers getting menaced by you, yet here we are," Louie retorted, remembering the incident from early. A powerful surge of protectiveness boiled deep in his gut, giving him the courage he needed to glare right back at Gillian. "So call off the fight, or everyone on the playground will know you still wet the bed by 6th period."

"No one will believe you," Gil said almost immediately, as if he was trying to convince himself more than he was with Louie. Louie couldn't help but give a simple shrug in response.

"You really want to risk it?"

Gil was breathing even heavier now as if he was pouring all his frustration into his breathing. Louie noticed him continually clenching and unclenching his fists, like his hands didn't know what to do if they weren't immediately punching something. Louie forced himself not to take a step back.

"Y-you," Gil forced between his grinding teeth, practically seething with rage. "If word gets out about that, I'd beat that moron to a stupid pulp! I'd beat both you losers up! I'd- I'd-."

"Shorty? Moron? Losers?" Louie raised a brow and nearly scoffed at the remark, using the slight humor in the situation try to ease the growing panic he was feeling. "What is this, an 80's cartoon? Dude, just stop with the pet names and call off the fight, ok? And I promise we'll just go our separate ways and never speak of this again."

And it really was the truth. Louie had no intention letting this information out if he didn't need to. That was the point in blackmail. You never really used it unless you absolutely had to. Otherwise, any info is really just for show of power and kept hidden out of view until the time was right. He was hoping Gil would realize this, but something about the way his shoulders seemed to shake was throwing Louie off. Something wasn't right.

Something _really_ wasn't right. Gil's glare seemed more intense and pointed, like he was thinking of about a thousand ways to kill Louie and get away with it. He stood there, silently fuming and flaring his nostrils. Finally settling on keeping his fat fists clenched at his hips.

"Ok, Gillian? That sound like a deal?" Louie probed, daring to take a step further towards Gil.

Big mistake number 2 that day.

"I should have just punched your idiot brothers when I had the chance," Gil spat out lowly, his voice almost calm, despite his raging features.

"Shoulda, coulda, woulda," Louie agreed, ignoring the idiot part and just trying to move the conversation along. "Look, dude, do we have a-."

"Why do you care so much?" Gil suddenly asked in that same low, scarily calm voice. Louie blinked in confusion for a solid two seconds, not really knowing how to process his question.

"W-why? Why do I c-."

"Why do you care what happens to your brothers?" Gil interrupted again, this time his voice growing more confident. He stopped flaring his nostrils. "I was just going to rough up your brother a little, just scare him into backing off. I didn't even _do_ anything to the geek. Why do you care so much that your willing to go through all of this?"

He gestured between himself and Louie violently, and Louie couldn't help but keep his eyes trained on the sudden motion. Louie's mouth was hanging slightly open, still not processing where this segway was taking them exactly and why the _heck_ wasn't Gil just accepting the blackmail and letting them both go on there merry way.

"I have an older brother and I still don't get it. I wouldn't risk my own hide if he got himself into something stupid. Why should I? Why should _you_? Why _do_ you?" Gil kept questioned, and then almost immediately his eyes went wide, a sudden horrible idea blossoming in his head. "Oh, wait, is it because no one else cares about you, right? Is that it?"

One blink.

Two.

A dozen.

Louie couldn't stop his blinking, his mind was backfiring majorly on him in trying to piece the two things together, or _what even Gil was talking about_?

"Wha- _what_? What are you talk-."

"You're orphans, right?" Gil supplied like it was an easy jeopardy answer. "They never come to any school events. You never talk about them. Is it because they dumped you? You three are so weirdly possessive of each other because your mommy and daddy didn't want you and don't love you."

It finally clicked for Louie when he saw the small grin creep on Gil's face. He was baiting him. _Oh my god_ , he was baiting Louie. Trying to change the subject and turn it around on him. But Louie still didn't understand _why_. This info wasn't exactly a secret, nevermind that most of it was completely wrong in the first place. He still had the upper hand when it came to the blackmail. What was Gil doing?

Whatever it was, it was starting to annoy Louie.

"Say what you want, Gil. At least we don't wet the bed every night." Louie muttered, but the pointed sting had all but lost it's effect when Gil stepped up to him, practically purring with pity.

"Awww, what's the matter? Did I hit a sore spot? Was I right? Did your mommy really abandon you?" Gil cooed, circling Louie like he was new prey being cornered and about to be eaten. Louie ignored the shiver running down his back when he felt Gil's heated breath on his neck. "What happened? Were you three an accident? She didn't want one, let alone all three of you? I mean, she must have really hated you if she gave you such stupid names and then threw you to the curb. What a horrible woman."

Now it was Louie's turn to clench his fists. Eyeing Gil as the boy rounded at his side. He knew he shouldn't have been getting worked up because that was _exactly_ what Gil wanted. He wanted a reaction from him. He needed to gain some control. He knew Louie had all the bargaining chips, so he was gonna play some low, _low_ , cards to get the upper hand in the situation.

Louie couldn't give him that satisfaction of seeing his tactics work.

But he couldn't stop the shaking in his hands or his heartbeat from pulsing in his chest.

"Shut up. She didn't _dump_ us anywhere, you jerk. She's dead. Don't act all smug like you know anything." Louie growled, fulling acknowledging that he was falling for the bait but not caring in the slightest. Yorkshire was taking it too far. He was making this personal.

Gil shrugged passively, not bothering to hide a grin. "Abandoned or dead, it's all the same. Gone is gone and she still doesn't love you, care, or really need you. No one does. It's just you three."

Louie's nails were digging painfully into his palms. "You better shut your big, stupid, fat mouth before I shut it for you Gil or so help." Louie left the threat unsaid. You could say it was for added effect, but it was mostly because Louie couldn't decide which way to best murder the meathead.

"Or wait, no it isn't," Gil gasped, his eyes widening again as another thought occurred to him. "You guys have an uncle right?"

Whatever panicked expression Louie made in that moment was enough to set Gil off again, throwing his hands in the air widely with excitement as a maniacal grin spread across his face.

"That's right! You do! I've seen him at football practices! Man, hehe, what a piece of work," Gil laughed mockingly. Bending over and resting his hands on his knees. "As if your family couldn't get any sadder. I mean, just, wow. That guy is a walking target, I'm telling you. I've never seen someone trip over his own feet so many times and crash into the water table. Or fall off the bleachers. Or get hit in the head with a stay football. And when he cheers for your nerdy brother? For being the water boy? Oh my god, he sounds like a broken rubber ducky toy in a garbage disposal, I mean, what is with that voice? It's ridiculous! And don't even get me started on that stupid costume he's always wearing! Like, what an absolute tool."

At this point, Gil was wheezing and holding his stomach for all his worth as he wiped a fake tear away with his hand. Never tearing his eyes away from Louie's as he continued to rant. "Talk about someone that's hard to love. I mean really, no wonder you three are so weird. Look who you're stuck with as family. I mean, just with the way he acts, what is he, retarded or something? What an _embarrassment_."

* * *

Louie had seen what real anger looked like, pure, unadulterated rage, only a few times in his life. It was no secret that his uncle had a bit of a temper, but he never truly lost it unless it was something really, _really_ serious. And Louie never understood it. He got mad, sure, but experiencing emotions on the extreme like that? He didn't understand how anyone could put themselves through that. It seemed pointless. Too bothersome to go through. Nothing could be worth that type of anger.

The last time he had seen his uncle really lose it was 2 years ago. He never found out the reason for it, never really bothered to ask about it, in fear that the subject may cause another episode. Not in fear of his uncle, just that he didn't want to ever see his uncle go through that again. He wasn't really even supposed to see the incident, he guessed.

He had taken the bus home early instead of waiting for his brother's afterschool events to get done and get picked up by their uncle later on that day. He had walked in and was immediately greeted with his uncle practically cursing his throat sore into his cellphone. His back was to Louie, he didn't know he was home. Louie didn't get the chance to make his presence known. And whoever was on the other end didn't get a chance to finish what they were saying before Donald threw his phone to the ground with such force, Louie was distantly scared he broke it.

Then, without warning, Donald punched the wall nearest to him so hard, he broke through it with a loud crack. The action reminded Louie of thunder. Terrifying. Powerful. He squeaked in shock without meaning to and immediately regretted making a sound at all.

Because then his uncle whirled his attention on him. And Louie had never seen such hatred in a person's eyes before. He had never been on the receiving end of such intensity before. He had never seen his uncle look at him like that before. With that pure, white rage. With that undeniable hate.

It had stopped his heart.

Of course, it only lasted for less than half a second, before Donald's eyes went wide with panic as he recognized who was standing at the door. That hatred dissolving away immediately and replaced with its usually soft tenderness, like there had never been anything _but_ love in those wide irises.

And he would never say it out loud, he knew it would break his uncle's heart if he ever confirmed it.

But this incident scared Louie.

Not because his uncle had screamed his voice hoarse. Not even because he had, even if it was for a second, directed that anger towards Louie. He knew that his uncle would never get that kind of mad at him. Get that mad at his brothers.

No.

It was because when Donald pulled his hand away from the wall, rushing over to apologize and comfort Louie, his was streaked and bruised with bright red.

That kind of anger left nothing but pain. It _brought_ nothing but pain. That anger had hurt his uncle. And had left more than a physical scar.

And he had asked, only hours later when the situation had died down, long after his brothers had gone to bed, about it. He walked into the dimly lit living room, finding his uncle pouring over some numbered papers at the kitchen nook tiredly. And when his uncle noticed his presence, he didn't seem the least bit surprised to see him there and only ran an exhausted hand over his face before scooching over on the bench.

And all he had asked was what it felt like. To be so impossibly angry at something, at anything, to just lose yourself like that. What was the point of it?

Only now did he understand what his uncle had meant that night.

 _"There is no point Lou. That's what anger is. It's pointless. And it's stupid. And it sucks and it hurts and it festers in your heart until it bursts and becomes sore and raw and rotten. And makes no sense and yet makes all the sense in the world and you honestly hate the feeling more than anything and you want it to end as soon as it begins but you become instantly powerless against stopping it. And it's horrifying. And if you're not strong enough to stop it, to control it, it will ruin your life. Your home. It'll hurt the people you care about and it'll hurt you. And nothing is worth that kind of pain."_

That was two years ago. He has never seen his uncle that angry since. And he was glad of it.

Becuase he finally understood what being that angry had felt like. Uncle Donald had been absolutely right about it.

And since that was the case, Louie wanted to make sure his uncle never felt that way _**ever** again_.

Cause it _did_ suck. And it _did_ hurt. And he hated the acidic feeling that burned in his chest and made his vision turn red. He hated how his mind only became focused on one thing. How he lost control, no, how he didn't fight back his murderous impulses.

He hated how he only wanted to make Gillian Yorkshire hurt as much as he did.

He hated all of it. Everything that came with it. The pain. The rage. The sick feeling in his gut.

Most of all.

He hated how he didn't regret a single thing.

* * *

His eye hurt. It hurt so bad. _Holy cow_ did it hurt. It throbbed and pulsed and burned and _hurt_ and Louie had to do everything in his power not to tear up from the pain.

The duties arrived in time to pull Gillian off of him, but not before the jerk had landed a few solid hits to the gut and given him an award-winning shiner to match the bruises now forming on his ribcage.

He didn't think it through. Obviously. He wasn't thinking much at all. All he knew was that he kept getting angrier and angrier. Rage was bubbling and festering inside him and if he didn't make Gillian stop talking, he was surely going to explode.

Because how dare he. _How. Dare. He_.

He had no idea. Didn't have the faintest idea about his uncle Donald. How great he was. How _amazing_ he was. Gil didn't deserve to even say his name. Didn't even deserve to breathe the same air as his uncle.

And he said all those things. Those horrible, _terrible_ things. Things that couldn't be farther from the truth. Things that felt like poison to his ears. Coursing through his veins and infecting every sensible part of Louie's sense. They made him sick. Gillian made him sick.

So he tackled him. And who knows what else he could have done. _Would_ have done. But Gil was more experience with his anger than Louie was, knew how to use his fists to deal out some of that anger and use them so it would hurt.

And after the first few hits, before he could even use some of the built-up rage of his own, the fight was over, and he was getting dragged to the principles office.

The world kinda seemed blurred after that.

The heated buzz in his ears, the adrenaline rush, left him as soon as it came. And he felt drained. Tired. In pain.

He didn't remember sitting in one of the empty chairs in front of Mrs. Merganser's desk. It should have felt familiar, he had sat in that seat a forgotten amount of times before. But this was different. The situation had changed and the air around him felt like it was suffocating. Squeezing his chest tightly and making it hard to breathe.

He didn't remember when Gillian started crying his eyes out. His words were muffled and dulled and really the only thing Louie could hear was the sound of his heartbeat racing. Sporadic and fast and pulsing _loudly_ in his eardrums.

And when he had pulled his hood up tightly over his head was anyone's guess, but he was glad for it. All he wanted to do was hide away. Fold and tuck himself inwards. Somewhere where he could collect his thoughts and his feelings and himself. Somewhere dark. And quiet. Somewhere where it would stop hurting.

But then he heard the word 'parents' and his senses seemed to come alive again. He had bit his tongue in his panicked protest, the taste of something metallic not helping as he jumped from his chair. And he begged. He begged for all his worth.

The whole point of this, of everything, was so that his uncle Donald wouldn't have to be called in. His meeting was so important. He couldn't miss it. Why couldn't the principal understand that? He'd do anything, anything. He would have taken a thousand detentions. A thousand more punches to the face. If only she could wait till after school. Why couldn't she just wait? Why wouldn't she just listen to him?

It didn't seem like anyone would listen to him anymore.

She called him anyway. Called Gil's parents too. They arrived shortly after, smothering Gil with hugs and kisses and soothing words and choking Louie with accusatory glances and harsh sneers.

 _Whatever_. They could do whatever they wanted. It was nothing compared to what his uncle would have in store for him.

There was no point to anything anymore. He failed. A fight still happened. His uncle still got called in. Someone got hurt.

At least that last thing was something he was able to change.

At least it wasn't one of his brothers that got hurt.

* * *

He didn't mean to shout. He didn't mean to knock his chair over. He didn't mean to grab onto his uncle's arm so tightly his fingertips were turning white. But he couldn't help it.

He saw it. Saw that flash in his eyes. Felt the air around them turn dark and dangerous and _breathtaking_. Felt his heart jump and his stomach drop and he was already moving to stop his uncle.

He knew the anger now. He knew what it did. What it _would_ do. And how much it hurt. And he hated how this was something his uncle had to fight and struggle with. And he knew how easy it was turn on and difficult it would be to turn it off again, but he had to try. He had to do something.

Because he never wanted his uncle to feel that pain again. Not ever. Not when Louie could protect him from it.

And to his amazement, it worked. It worked almost too well. Becuase that anger was gone as soon as his attention turned on Louie. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, though, it didn't morph into something guilty and filled with a panicked worry.

He looked shocked, like someone had knocked the wind out of him. And he looked like he was feeling a different kind of anger. One even more painful, if that was even possible. One that was driven by something even more powerful than the want to make someone else hurt.

 _Fear_.

* * *

The air between them felt like fragile glass, there was too much pressure and too many cracks in it already. Any more and it would have shattered.

But all it took was a look. A single look from his uncle and he came crashing down with the glass around him. Every shard puncturing deeply into his heart as he gushed about everything.

And he must have said sorry about a thousand times yet it still didn't feel like enough. And the stupid tears that he'd been keeping back for what felt like a forever wouldn't stop coming no matter how much he tried to stop them and _oh god_ he must have sounded and looked so pathetic.

And he didn't feel like he deserved the hug. Not in the slightest. But when his uncle pulled him in, with those tight and strong and familiar arms, he couldn't help but fall into them. He latched onto his uncle like a lifeline and cried his stupid eyes out.

He cried about the fight. He cried about his black eye. He cried about Gillian. He cried about how angry he got. How his uncle missed his meeting and how sorry he truly was. How is uncle hadn't done a single thing to punish him. How Louie didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve his uncle's unconditional love. And how it wasn't fair that his uncle had to suffer so much pain. How nothing was fair. How being angry was pointless. How being angry was stupid. How everything was stupid. And how his heart felt like it was breaking.

And of course, the moment he was able to breathe again, he was only met with kind and comforting words from his uncle. Words that didn't hugely make sense or seemed fair, but for the sake of agreeing, he nodded in understanding.

Becuase he didn't understand what his uncle had meant that late February night in the same kitchen nook, about what anger felt like and why it was what it was.

But he learned. And grew. And decided neither one of them were going to ever feel that pain again.

And like his uncle said, they were going to deal with things together now. Louie hoped he knew that was a two-lane road they were traveling on.

If there was trouble, they were going to deal with it together. If there was pain, they were going to fight it _together_. And nothing was going to stand in their way again. Nothing was going to make them lose control again.

They were going to be just fine, whatever came there way.

They had each other. That's all they needed. As long as they had each other, they were going to be ok.

And they _were_ going to be ok.

They were going to be just fine.

* * *

 ** _I hope you all like this last entry of this arc, SHAKING HANDS! Sorry, it took me so long to finish, there was a lot going on in my life and this chapter was very spiritually and mentally draining to write because I wanted it to be_ very _emotion filled and I tried to stay in character as I possibly could. I hoped you all like it regardless!_**

 ** _I already have a story plan lined up for both Huey and Dewey, so comment on which one you'd rather read first and I'll begin uploading that first and very soon! Thank you so much for the continued support and wait, can't wait to build more of this world and the Duck boys' lives! See you soon!_**


	5. Breathless Chapter 1

**_New arc in the Charting Maps series! A story that takes place in the first year Donald has the boys, and how he faces all the challenges that come with raising babies and learns just how unprepared he really is, despite what all the parenting books he's read taught him. This is a Huey_ _centered story. Lots of cuddling in this arc. Also lots of family angst._**

* * *

Donald was tired.

But lately, that wasn't anything new. He was raising three one-year-olds, after all. Sleep hadn't really been one of his highest priorities. In fact, he was lucky if it even made it on his daily to-do list.

He yawned for what felt like the millionth time that hour, making sure he stopped moving the knife he was using to cut up the vegetables when he did so. He learned that painful lesson a couple of weeks ago and wasn't so eager to go through it again. Let's just say, it's hard picking up babies and typing documents up for work when your fingers are sliced up.

He blinked his eyes rapidly for a few seconds, convinced that would help drive away the lingering tiredness and sighed loudly. He finished cutting up the broccoli and red peppers and went to check on the rice boiling in the large saucepan on the stove. He grabbed a hanging dishtowel and took the top off the pan, his vision immediately greeted by hot steam. He cleared his throat once in slight annoyance, waved away some of the steam with his free hand and peered inside. The rice looked to be turning soft and stayed white, unlike the last time when the edges had started browning before the middle was fully cooked.

Donald was never the best chef, but he was learning to do the simple stuff better. He was great when it came to barbeque and roasting meats on the grill, but until the triplets were old enough to be able to chew bigger and more solid things (or at least be able to appreciate his fine meaty craftsmanship) he stuck to soft foods, fruits, and vegetables.

To test his theory, however, he grabbed a wooden spoon to stir the rice and was pleased when it began to clump together and was losing it's harder form. Satisfied, he took the chopping board he'd been using and scraped the veggies into the rice. He stirred once again, making sure the green and red was mixed evenly into the white and put the lid back on the saucepan.

That's when he felt a slight tug on his sweatpants.

"Well hello, Dewey," Donald smiled at the wobbly baby clinging to his leg. Dewey looked up when his name was called and gave a wide toothy grin. He bravely reached up with one chubby hand, making sure to hold tightly to Donald's pants with the other, and opened and closed his hand excitedly.

"You want up?" Donald asked, more for the sake of conversation than actual curiosity.

The triplets were always babblers, but lately, they had begun extending their vocabulary and associating certain words with actions. Which was exciting, mostly because now Donald didn't feel so pathetic when he talked to the boys since there was a slight chance that they actually understood what he was saying to them. It was weird living with 3 other living beings and not being able to communicate with them. Weird, and lonely. At least now they could hold up a simple conversation with the few words they knew.

The most popular ones being ' _up_ ',' _now_ ', and the ever favorable, ' _no_ '. Which usually was preceded by a whole bunch of kicking and screaming.

It wasn't much, but Donald would take it any day compared to the year he spent with one-sided conversations only being met with blank and curious stares and undeterminable giggles.

Donald nearly cried when Huey said ' _unca_ ' for the first time. Either that, or it was just a very confident grunt. The jury was still out on that one. Donald hoped for the latter, for his own sanities sake.

Dewey bobbed his head and continued to reach out with his small hand, grunting a little as he opened and closed his palm with more direct purpose.

"Can we say ' _up, please_ '?" Donald mused, putting the chopping block and wooden spoon back down.

" _Peas_ ," Dewey agreed, and Donald allowed himself a tired chuckle.

"Good job, buddy. Up we go!" Donald hummed warmly, bending over and picking up his nephew with expertise, saddling him to his hip side. He chanced a quick glance over to the living room, relieved to see his other two nephews still relaxing on the blanket he had left them on.

Louie was currently teething on one of his ice rings and perfecting his army crawl. He was the only one of the triplets who wasn't walking yet, not that Donald hadn't tried to coax him into it. He asked their pediatrician about it during their last checkup, but she had reassured him that it wasn't anything to worry about. It was perfectly natural for some kids to learn to walk a lot later, and it was more that Louie didn't really _have_ an interest in learning, as opposed to not being able to.

Which was fine with Donald. Louie was usually the last one of them to do anything, but Donald was starting to learn that it was less of him not being able to do it and more simply that his nephew just did things at his own pace. He'd learn to walk when he wanted to walk.

Or when he'd get tired of Donald carrying him around everywhere. That being said, Donald had the sneaking suspicion that Louie wasn't going to walk for awhile. _The lazy bum_.

Huey, on the other hand, was completely engulfed in figuring out his toy blocks, slowing learning that a circle block wasn't going to fit in the triangle hole no matter how hard he tried to push it in. But Donald had to give him props for his continued determination and stubbornness. He also noticed the edges of Huey's eyes were still a tinted red, a lasting outcome of his meltdown from earlier that afternoon.

Donald hadn't seen it, he was busy at work all day and only found out about it after he had picked up the triplets from their daycare. One of the daycare ladies handed him his sniffling and puffy-eyed toddler and proceeded to act bewildered.

 _'I don't know what got into him. One minute he was fine, the next he was screaming bloody murder. We thought maybe one of the other kids had taken a toy from him or that he had accidentally hurt himself, but we couldn't find a cause for either thing. He only now just started calming down.'_

Donald couldn't make heads or tails of it either, so he shrugged it off. Huey wasn't much of a cryer, and he had seemed fine since he got home, nothing seemed bruised or wrong when he checked him earlier. He looked and acted ok, save for the occasional sniff and him rubbing at his still red eyes.

Though, with the way his brow was furrowed as he continued to hit the circle block through the different hole slots, Donald hoped another meltdown wasn't inevitable in his nearby future.

"Ahhh," Dewey called, and Donald's attention was returned to the nephew at hand, reminding himself to check on the other two again within the next minute or so. Just because there wasn't a meltdown now, didn't mean one wouldn't happen in the next five seconds. And he couldn't let his guard down for even _one_ second. Despite one of them not even being able to walk, the little buggers could crawl fast when they wanted to.

"I'm making some rice and veggies for dinner," Donald explained to Dewey, noticing the baby lean forward in examination of what he was working on. "Wanna see something cool, buddy?"

Donald grabbed the dishtowel again and gripped the top of the saucepan. Looking at Dewey, he gave him a smile as he leaned closer to the stove. "Can you count to three with me, Dew? Ready? One...Two... Three!"

On three, Donald ripped the lid off the pan and both their visions became blurred by warm steam. Dewey giggled loudly as he rubbed his face and swatted at the air around him. He continued giggling even after the steam evaporated and Donald felt rewarded enough by his action. Laughing along with his nephew, he placed the lid back over the rice so that it could finish cooking.

Dewey noticed this and stopped swatting the air. Using his full weight, he leaned back over the stove to try and touch the lid.

"Woah, buddy," Donald warned, stepping back and pulling Dewey's hand away from the hot glass. "We can't touch that! It's too hot. It'll burn our hands."

Dewey frowned at Donald, not understanding why he couldn't let the steam come back up and grunted again in confusion, leaning back towards the lid. Donald mirrored his frown at his own lack of communicating and scratched his head in thought. "Um, see. Here, look buddy."

Donald bent his knees and squatted so that they were both eye level with the stove top below the saucepan. Keeping both their hands close to him, Donald pointed towards the bright orange light. "See that right there, Dewey? That's Fire. We don't touch the stove when the fire is there. Or else we'll get hurt. We'll get ochies."

Still noticing the look of confusion on his nephew's face, Donald held his free hand up close to the stove. "Watch."

Of course, he didn't go very near to the flame at all. Just close enough to where it would be understood that it was _too_ close and, in mock pain, snatched his hand back, pulling it tight to his chest. "Ochie!" Donald exclaimed, catching the wide-eyed attention from his nephew.

"See? Fire is hot and you shouldn't ever touch it. Ok? Fire gives ochies. Fire it hot. Can you say hot?"

Dewey switched his view from his uncle to the fire, to his uncle's hand, and then back to the fire. Ignoring the question, he tentatively reached out for the stove, but in much the same fashion as Donald did, snatched his hand back and pulled it tightly to himself.

"No?" Dewey shook his head, concern crossing his face as he looked towards Donald for approval.

Donald nodded his head enthusiastically. "No! That's right Dewey! Fire is no! The stove is no! Don't touch them, ok? You'll get ochies."

"Chies," Dewey echoed, keeping his eyes on the flame and his hands securely too him. Donald immediately felt a burst of warmth blossom in his chest. He was so proud, he could cry. How was he lucky enough to get the smartest nephews in the world?

" _NOOOOOOO!_ " Came a scream from the living room, shocking Donald from his thoughts. He nearly jumped out of his skin as he stood straight up, whirling his attention towards the source of the shout. He turned off the stove and immediately raced into the living room, Dewey latching onto the hem of his shirt for balance in his haste.

Louie's ice ring was all but forgotten at the other side of the blanket and was now chewing on the very block that Huey had been trying to push through the slotted box. He was sitting next to Huey, his eyes wide as he sucked on the colorful circle block and stared at his brother in calm passiveness.

Huey, on the other hand, was screaming at the top of his lungs. Tears weren't falling, but his eyes turned puffy and pink as snot dripped from his nose. Donald raced there just in time to see Huey swing hard and slap Louie on the arm.

"Huey!" Donald didn't yell, as he sat Dewey down on the floor and picked up his eldest nephew before he could inflict any more damage that would come inevitably. "What has gotten into you? We don't hit!"

Huey immediately went limp, squirming and trying to wiggle his way out of Donald's arms as he threw his fit, his shouts coming out more horse and ornery. Donald spared a glance at Louie, who seemed more confused at the action than hurt, _thank God_ , and just stared at his arm where Huey had hit him. The circle block laid forgotten at his feet.

"Huey! Hu-umf, Huey! Settle down. Ack! It's ok!" Donald tried to sound reassuring, but he was struggling to balance the flailing baby in his arms and keep him from falling.

He wasn't a stranger to tantrums, but that still didn't mean he was an expert at handling them. He's read plenty of parenting books, sure, but they all seemed to contradict each other when it came to how to deal with a toddler's fits. Hold your child, don't hold your child, leave the room, don't leave the room. Use time-outs, don't use time-outs. Be stern. Be soft. It was all too confusing for Donald.

In the end, the best thing he _could_ do was distract the other two with something else and _then_ try to figure it out from there.

He walked the still wiggling Huey and placed him in the playpen he had set up by the entryway. "I'll be right back," Donald assured him, but Huey seemed too busy screaming to bother listening to him.

He then walked over and grabbed his other two nephews with practiced ease, taking them each in one arm, and made his way to the kitchen. He settled them each, snug and secure, in their own highchair before walking over to the saucepan still on the stove. Tentatively, he peered back inside the pan and was relieved to see the food was cooked all the way through. Leaving the lid on the counter, Donald grabbed the boys' plastic colored plates from the cabinet and filled them each with a small amount of rice and veggies.

"Here you guys go," Donald said, placing the blue and green plates in front of his two nephews. He didn't bother with giving them utensils. Babies, as Donald has learned, were very hands-on investigators when it came to their food, squishing and feeling the texture of it and putting it everywhere and anywhere before they decided to put it in their mouths. As if wearing the food first made it taste better. Donald couldn't very well refute that logic, though he tried. Turns out, one-year-olds weren't the best at consulting. "I'll be right back. Try to put most of it in your mouths and not on the floor, please."

And with that useless warning Donald knew they wouldn't take to heart, he walked over to Huey, who was still screaming in the playpen.

"Buddy. Buddy, what's wrong?" Donald asked in a calm voice, kneeling in front of the netting between them. Huey was no longer physically throwing a fit, which Donald supposed was a good sign. He was sitting up, his hands curled up in little fists to his chest, but he was still shouting with all his might. Donald was starting to get worried about his throat going hoarse. "Huey, sweetheart, you gotta calm down first. I can't help you until you stop crying."

Donald knew it was pointless to try and negotiate with him. It wasn't like Huey could understand what he was saying, but if there was one thing all those parenting books had taught him, it was to stay calm.

And Donald had a history of doing just the opposite of that. He knew he had a temper and he knew he was horrible at keeping it.

But he also knew that if he wanted to keep the boys around, his temper could _never_ be an issue or something he _ever_ directed at his nephews. No matter how much they fussed or whined or cried and made him lose sleep and sanity. Or in this particular case, screamed at the top of their lungs. So far, he had a clean record. This instant wasn't going to be any different.

Plus, a calming voice usually tended to help, thankfully. Donald continued to talk soothingly and quietly to Huey, saying just about everything under the sun that he thought would calm his nephew down while also keeping an eye on his other two boys in the kitchen. After what felt like a good ten minutes, Huey's guttural screams died into soft whimpers and pathetic sniffs. His cheeks and eyes were almost as red as his onesie.

"Alright buddy, have you calmed down now?" Donald asked, standing and reaching into the pen. This time, Huey made no effort to fight back against Donald's hold, clenching the collar of Donald's shirt and burying his face into the nape of Donald's neck. Donald rubbed smooth circles into his back worriedly, his heart melting with concern.

 _What was that about?_ Donald thought as he cradled his kid. He stood there for awhile, bouncing the baby in his arms until he was completely sure Huey had calmed down before he brought him back to his brothers' company.

One screaming baby was enough. He didn't need Huey starting off a train reaction.

 _Maybe he's just hungry._ Settling Huey comfortably in his arms, he walked over to where the other boys were still eating. Or, well, trying to eat. Dinner was a flimsy thing. It could either take five minutes or an hour. And it looked like this was going to take awhile if the rice in Dewey's hair and the food on the floor in front of Louie's high chair was any indication.

"Louie, what did I say about throwing your food on the floor?" Donald asked tiredly, catching Louie's attention. Louie looked at him innocently enough, holding a fistful of broccoli in his hands. He leaned sideways in his highchair, as if just noticing the carnage he wrought below him, before holding a tentative hand up to Donald and offering him what was left of his meal.

"Trying to bribe the warden with a peace offering, I see," Donald raised a brow in disapproval as he put Huey in his own highchair. Thank god for the local garage sale they held at the pier every Sunday, or Donald wouldn't have been able to afford three of everything the boys needed. Both Huey's and Louie's highchair's had been five bucks, a steal compared to the original one he had bought long before the boys were even born. "Nice try bucko, but you're not getting off that easily. You need to get at least some of it in you."

Once he had refilled both Dewey's and Louie's plates and had filled one up for Huey and himself, he leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter and ate quietly, monitoring the boys' intake. He managed to sneak a few bites in between stopping Dewey and Louie from continuing their fun from earlier. In which Dewey would throw his food up into the air playfully and watch it fall back down around him, hence the rice in his hair. As much as it warmed Donald's heart to see him giggle happily while playing with his food, he had to nail that bad habit in the head before it ruined all his meals in the future. Thankfully, Dewey didn't take the stern " _No. Stop. Don't,_ " too hard and continued playing with his food closer to his mouth. Which, in the end, Donald guessed was a win-win.

Louie, apparently, had decided that shoving his food on the floor wasn't going to make it really disappear with Donald hovering around him, catching every plate he tried to push off his highchair, so he reluctantly shoved a few fist fulls into his mouth. He was careful about avoiding the peppers, shoving them close enough to the edge where they weren't in danger of falling, but they were out of his immediate reach and line of sight. Donald took a mental note that Louie didn't like peppers. Add it to the growing list that included hot dogs, applesauce, oranges, and tomatoes. A picky eater, but Donald supposed 1 out of 3 kids wasn't so bad.

Speaking of, he kept a close eye on Huey, noticing that he wasn't eating as much as he should have, even by finicky baby standards. Huey was usually a pretty good eater. He didn't always eat everything off his plate, like Dewey, but at least he tried everything, unlike Louie. For the most part, Donald didn't have any problems with Huey at mealtimes. However, today Huey just stared blankly at his food, not really even touching it, let alone eating it. Donald guessed he was just having an off day and decided to give him a hand.

"Hey buddy, want to try some broccoli? It's super good," Donald cooed, kneeling in front of Huey and taking a bite out of one of Huey's untouched vegetables, _mmmmhhhhhing_ in satisfaction for added effect. "See? Yummy. Want to try some? Your brothers like it. I know you will too."

But Huey just frowned at him tiredly, watching Donald make a show of eating the rice, but not caring enough to partake in it as well. He continued to keep his hands clenched tightly to his chest.

Donald mirrored his frown with concern. This really wasn't like Huey, like, at all. Something had to be wrong, but Donald didn't have a whole lot to go on. "Buddy, you got to eat something. Do you want me to cut up a banana instead? Or maybe you want some milk?"

Huey just continued to stare at the untouched plate in front of him, his cheeks and eyes still red and puffy from his earlier meltdown. His quiet behavior was so unlike him, he would usually babble up a storm at this time of night, that even his brothers took notice. Dewey, bless his heart, even leaned over in his highchair and held out a piece of pepper for Huey to take.

The slim piece of pepper had already been half eaten, so Donald didn't blame Huey when he didn't take it, but the gesture was still sweet.

"Up?" Dewey asked with a mouth full of rice, leaning the piece of food closer to Huey. Huey seemed to equally lean away from it, shaking his head annoyed.

"No," Huey said firmly, his voice sounding raspier than Donald liked.

"Up?" Dewey asked again, but this time didn't wait for a response from his brother before throwing the piece of food into the air. Before Donald could stop it or really react to what was happening, the piece of pepper flew in the air and hit Huey square on the head, startling him.

Donald knew it didn't hurt. It was half a pepper, it barely weighed anything at all. But that was enough to send Huey over the edge again and spiral into another screaming fit.

"No!" Huey cried, kicking his legs angrily and throwing his arms around, knocking his plate onto the floor with a dulled thud. "No! No no no no! Nonononononono NO!"

"Huey!" Donald exclaimed louder than he meant too, too surprised by the action to monitor his volume as he quickly picked up the screaming Huey once again.

Whatever it was, Huey's sudden screams or Donald's equally sudden loud shout, it had caused a scared jump from both Louie and Dewey. Louie frowned, his bottom lip pouting outwardly, just as tears began pooling at the corners of Dewey's eyes.

 _Crap_. Donald thought as he struggled again to hold down the screaming baby. _Crap, crap, crap crap crap, crap, this so isn't good, crap._

"Hey, guys, no no no, don't cry. It's ok. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout, everything's ok, it's ok." Donald shushed softly, parading around a warm and happy smile for the kids as Huey screamed in his ear. "It's ok, please don't cry! Everything is great! Everything is good! Good, good good! Ok? Everything is just fine!"

 _Everything is SO not fine_. Donald was having trouble trying to convince himself, let alone the boys. But he needed it to be. He needed it to be fine and great and ok. He could barely control one crying baby. He wouldn't wish three crying babies on his worst enemies.

And _crap_ , ok, he was starting to get really frustrated. Because Huey would just not stop crying and if he could just relax for one second, then Donald could think of a game plan. But frankly, Huey was even more put off than ever, screaming so hard he was coughing and squirming so much Donald could barely keep a safe hold on him.

The situation was quickly going downhill and it would only get worse if he subjected Dewey and Louie to the stress as well. He couldn't very well leave them in the state they were in, obviously scared and feeling the tension in the room. Seeing Huey scream so hard and so loud would overload their senses too much and then they'd all be crying, Donald included.

It was obvious that Huey wasn't going to calm down anytime soon. And as much as he hated doing it, Donald needed to separate him from the other two. Half because he knew that they all needed a break from one another for them all to calm down, but mostly (and regrettably so) Donald needed a second away from a screaming baby.

Because yeah, ok, he's new to this. He had no idea how to raise a baby 8 months ago. Now he's raising three and in all honesty, he's not that much better than from when he started. And he loves his nephews more than anything in the world and would do anything and everything for them, don't get him wrong, but he's still very much new and uncomfortable with his situation.

He's 24 years old. Has no college degree, working two minimum wage paying jobs while raising triplet babies all by himself. He lost his parents when he was a teenager. He lost his twin sister barely a year ago. And he's tired and stressed and has always struggled with controlling his anger but now he's gotta make sure that he has it locked tight and secured 24/7.

Because one slip up was all it took. One outburst, one small little accident, and the boys are taken from him. And as much as he knew child services were willing to work with him to make sure that didn't happen, he also knew that his case was a rare and tricky one, and it wouldn't take a whole lot for them to deem Donald unqualified to raise his nephews.

So that's why he had to be so much more careful. He had to work twice had hard, think and act twice as fast, put twice as much effort into how he behaved and acted and cared for the boys. So that he never had to step foot in a courtroom, worrying his heart into pieces about whether he'd be able to keep the boys, his boys, again.

So that's why he walked briskly over to the other side of the houseboat, opening the only bedroom (once his bedroom) on the boat that he happily redesigned into the boys' nursery, and put the still screaming Huey into one of the cribs. He turned on one of the small nightlights, glowing stars immediately rotating slowly on the ceiling to a rhythmic version of a lullaby he couldn't quite place, and turned off the main light.

He didn't want to leave Huey by himself. If anything, he wanted to hold and sooth his nephew for as long as he lived, making sure nothing could ever make him upset or cry. But Huey really did need to calm down, and Donald had to make sure the other two were ok as well. And really, Donald needed a breather for a second, just a second, so that he could compose himself and not give in to just how tired and worn out he was. He needed to cool his head, level out his temper to something more calm and collected and sane. He was going to make everything ok again.

Donald had to convince himself that this wouldn't traumatize the kid. If anything, he'd tucker himself out and get a good, well needed nights sleep and Donald would make sure he ate a hearty breakfast in the morning. Knowing that this was the best ultimatum he could come up with, Donald shut the bedroom door and made his way back to his other two boys, the sounds of Huey's crying fading out behind him and weighing heavily on his chest.

* * *

Phew! It took me awhile, but I finally got it planned out! Next chapter should be up soon! Thanks for being patient and liking my first story so much! You guys are the sole reason why I decided to continue adding to this series and I thank you so much for your sweet and kind words!

10 points to whoever can guess why Huey is crying so much. I based this story a lot on my own family, so a lot of the things Donald does and a lot of the things that happen in this arc are based off of things my parents did or things that happened in my family. So this arc is really close to me, and I want to try and write it as best I can. Hope you all are just as excited for it as I am! Let me know what you think in the comments below! Thank again! =)


	6. Breathless Chapter 2

_**A short chapter that just has some filler information and some fun facts about Donald's past. The end is where our story really picks up! And we finally get a clue as to what's Huey's deal from the last chapter!**_

* * *

Donald didn't remember falling asleep below deck.

He didn't know what woke him, as he tried to blink away the lingering exhaustion that pulled on his eyelids. The room rocked him softly, as per usual when you lived on a houseboat. The old hanging light bulb above mirroring the movement and swaying back and forth, casting the room in a lulling and warm yellow light. The water and space heater was in a storage closet right next to where he kept the washer, so the downstairs deck was usually almost always suffocatingly hot. Except in the winter, which it was now, in which the temperature was a perfectly comfortable warm. Almost soothingly so.

He might not have remembered falling asleep, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that he did.

After a few minutes of trying not to fall _back_ asleep and amazingly succeeding, he tiredly sat up, his spine popping painfully when he stretched and noticed that he had been sleeping on and was covered with clothes.

 _Oh, that's right. I wanted to get a load in after the boys' fell asleep_. He scratched the back of his neck, his mind still fuzzy on the events that took place before his impromptu nap on the floor.

For once, his bad luck didn't kick in and Louie and Dewey didn't explode into their own little tantrums. Which was honestly probably the best thing that happened to him all day. They were still a little shaken, both a little teary-eyed and shy, but nothing Donald couldn't handle. Taking his blessings in stride, he quickly swept them up in his arms and took them into the bathroom for a bath, putting on a show like the act was the most amazing thing in the world.

He didn't have to try hard to get the boys' spirits back up though, his kids _loved_ bathtime.

Which, was awesome, because so did Donald. Maybe it was because their last name happened to be Duck. Maybe they inherited Donald's and their great-great uncle Pothole's love for water. Maybe it was just pure coincidence. Either way, it made Donald's life so much easier when he had one last thing to struggle with.

It didn't seem fair to put in bubbles when all three of them weren't taking a bath, Donald trying hard not to let the guilt at the thought of Huey eat away at him any more than it already did, so he settled for the boys' favorite toys.

Most of them were just simple old toys that were safe in and out of the bathtub, Donald liberating most of them from five-cent baskets at local yard sales, and some common things he'd repurposed around the house. Like an empty dish soap bottle and some colorful plastic coasters with pictures of different boats on them. A birthday present from his cousin Gladstone a forgotten amount of years ago.

There had been some underlying joke about Donald actually having friends over to use them, but it was as thoughtful as Donald guessed his cousin could be, so his thanks hadn't been _too_ begrudgingly given. Besides, Gladstone had been right, he supposed. He hardly ever had friends over. Of course, that was mostly due to the fact that most of them swept Donald away in their own adventures and never stayed still long enough to have a drink or two at his place. But nonetheless, they were basically useless until the triplets came into his life and he found that the dumb things had completely captured their attention and fondness.

And besides, toys were toys in the eyes of a one-year-old. That was the good thing about babies, they'd be happy with just about anything. Not knowing the difference between an expensive action figure and an empty cracker box and being able to find enjoyment in both.

Donald couldn't count high enough the amount of times he's had to improvise a regular household object to soothe a crying triplet. He'd rue the day when the boys were old enough to find his bulky key ring no longer engaging. But Donald wasn't worried. He'd burn that bridge when he got there and was happy enough that the boys' were content with the simple things.

So he exaggerated his voice and played along with them, making sure to distract them long enough to wash all the rice out of Dewey's hair and the piece of pepper that somehow got stuck to Louie's back, before dying them off and putting them into comfy and warm onesies.

Nowadays, Donald didn't hesitate to crank up the heater in the small houseboat, but he wasn't always so lax on the temperature.

Energy bills costed a fortune, and he had always been a tight spender, even before he got custody of the boys. If it was too cold, he'd sooner just put on a sweater and some fuzzy socks and call it good before he even considered touching the thermostat on the wall. He probably got that ingrained in him from when he was younger, his father had always been a stickler for small energy saving things like that. Donald got used to toughing the little inconveniences out.

But it was different now. Sure, energy bills still cost him an extra arm and leg, but it was the middle of winter and he had three very small babies to take care of. Donald wouldn't dare risk them getting sick just to save a few bucks on the bills every month.

Besides, he still had a bit of his inheritance from his parent's death saved up. Donald was originally planning on using it for something more special, like a vacation to the tropics or maybe getting that engagement ring for-

Well... He supposed he didn't mind spending it on the more important things now, like keeping his boys healthy.

In the beginning, he had thought about using the money that Della had left over to pay for the boys' expenses. But he brushed away that thought as soon as it came. It wasn't his money to spend, and sure, he had gotten access from the bank to use it as he saw fit, but it was still his sister's.

Which meant that it was now the boys'.

Donald decided to put the money in a separate bank account dedicated to the boys' college funds. Della had always wanted her kids to get an education so that they had the chance to be anything they wanted to be in the future. Donald never got to go to college, he spent most of those years in the Navy or on some crazy adventure with his uncle, but his sister had. And even though she never got to live out her ambition for very long, Donald had never seen his sister happier than when she had gotten her degree in aerospace engineering and made her dream of becoming a pilot come true.

If it meant that Huey, Dewey, and Louie could live a better life than Donald, live the life their mother didn't get too, Donald would put away every spare dime he could to make his boys' never had to worry about making their futures a reality.

After attempting to read them a bedtime story and having them fail to sit still long enough to listen, Donald decided that the smuggled yawns and blurry eyes were enough of a tell that it was time to hit the hay. He put Louie down first, knowing that Dewey would be a little harder to calm down for bed, and was thankful to see the dark nursery still and quiet.

Sure enough, ( _holy crap, thank God_ ) Huey had cried himself to sleep. His back facing Donald, and Donald watched his slow breathing for a solid minute before putting Louie in his respective crib. The green-clad triplet instantly falling asleep as soon as the blanket was put over him.

It took him another 15 minutes to get Dewey to settle down, but by 9, all three of his boys' were safe and sound and asleep. Giving Donald the breath of air he needed after the long day he's had.

He finished off what was left of the rice and veggies off of the boys' plates, not wanting to waste any food, and put the rest in the fridge for him to take to work tomorrow. He cleaned off the dishes, swept the floor, and after noticing his shirt was slightly damp from the mega splash Dewey sent his way during bathtime, decided he could put in a load of laundry before calling it a night himself.

Donald must have fallen asleep when he had taken out the clothes from the dryer, the warm sensation easying him into some long overdue _z's_ that he'd been deprived of for the better half of a year. He yawned again, picking himself off the mound of now cold laundry and looking towards the clock on the wall. It was almost 5 in the morning.

Donald cursed himself inwardly. He hadn't meant to practically sleep the entire night away on the downstairs floor. The aches in his back and neck evidence enough of that mistake. He pondered on whether to go back to sleep, get another hour in before he really had to get up before his shift, and decided against it. He might as well get an early start on the day, even though his body was screaming for more sleep every move he made.

He rubbed his eyes and allowed himself one more tired yawn before slapping his cheeks, forcing himself into awake mode. It didn't work, and now he was tired _and_ his cheeks hurt, but he ignored it and began making a mental list of things he needed to get done before work as he picked up the remaining clothes off the ground.

He placed them on the nearby table to fold later and walked back towards the laundry machine and loaded another pile of wet clothes into the dryer. After he shifted the dirty pile along into the washer and pressed the start button, (seriously why was there always laundry, there's no way they had _that_ many clothes) he noticed the baby monitor on the shelf as he was putting the detergent away.

When it had made its way downstairs and above the washing machine was a memory Donald didn't care enough to remember, but he was glad for it as he grabbed it and made his way back towards the table. Flipping it on, he set it down and began doing the first mental chore of folding the various onesies and work shirts.

He didn't even get through one pair of socks when an alarming noise coming through the monitor caught Donald's attention.

The first thing that came to Donald's mind was, " _a dog._ "

But he shot that idea down almost immediately because _why on earth_ would there have been a dog in the boys' nursery? But after listening to it more closely, it really did sound like a dog barking, followed by some short, sporadic, hissing sounds in between. Donald couldn't make heads or tales of the sounds, but whatever it was, it was making Donald's stomach drop uneasily.

Ditching the practically untouched laundry, Donald raced upstairs to the boys' room, racking his brain around what toys or machines he had in there that could make such an awful sound.

Finally reaching the room, he could hear the ' _barking_ ' through the door, Donald pressed it open slowly and peeked inside.

As far as he could tell, the boys' were still asleep, they would have begun babbling and standing up in their cribs if they had noticed Donald come in. He quietly made his way into the room and listened for the weird sound to continue. He noticed the small nightlight he placed on the floor, the rotating disco ball still lighting up the room with different constellations and stars, but no longer playing the lullaby.

Donald frowned admittedly, thinking that the machine was the cause and had malfunctioned sometime in the night and the music had turned into some garbled up nonsense. He was glad, he guessed, that it wasn't broken because then he'd either have to try and fix it or find another machine that could lull the kids to sleep just as well, if not better. With his luck, neither of those things was something he wanted to have to deal with.

But if it wasn't the nightlight, then that meant it had to be something else, and there weren't any other machines or noisy toys that could produce a sound like the one he had heard earlier.

This time, when Donald heard the barking noise, it was much clearer and admittingly even more terrifying when he figured out where it had come from.

The high pitched hissing that preceded was coming from Huey's crib.

Donald all but tripped on the rug as he rushed to his oldest's crib, and he just about lost all feeling in his legs when he looked inside. A sliver a light from the cracked door leading to the hallway gave Donald just enough light to see what he absolutely _never_ wanted to see even in his dreams.

Huey was on his side, facing Donald, and he was barely breathing.

Donald had never reacted faster than when he shot his hands into the crib to pick up his nephew. As soon as he did though, Huey began coughing violently, the barking noise ringing in Donald's ears as he fought for air through dry heaves. His face contorted painfully as he whimpered, and Donald felt like every part of him had died all at once.

Holding Huey in an upright position with his head resting on Donald's shoulder, Donald had to hold back a shiver when he felt Huey's heated skin practically on fire compared to his own as he raced out of the room.

" _OhGodohGodohGodohGod, **OH** my God_," Donald practically swore as he raced towards the living room because the _last_ thing he needed was to take care of two other babies. Right now, he was having a hard enough time fighting through the panic to focus on the one breathless in his arms. "Oh God, what do I _do_?"

Huey continued to wheeze painfully in high pitched breathes, and the term _Stridor_ flashed in Donald's mind as he rubbed Huey's back.

Quickly turning towards the bookcase he had filled with different parenting books, Donald reached for the nearest one on children's health and flipped through it with one hand.

He honestly didn't know what he was looking for as he frantically skimmed the pages, hoping an answer would just pop up automatically if he wished hard enough.

But he wasn't smart like Della.

He didn't have Gladstone's annoying luck or Fethry's optimistic determination.

He didn't know how to stay calm and problem solve something like this and didn't have the collective patience to wait for a solution to fall into his lap.

He was Donald. Plain, stupid, _rotten_ Donald that couldn't do anything right. And as he brought down book after book, surrounding himself with information that he had already read but in his panic forgotten, the only things he could think about was just how useless he was.

Because he could save up all the money in the world.

But when his nephews needed him, when a sick _Huey_ needed him, the only thing he really knew how to do was hush quiet comforts to him as his shivering hands cradled and soothed the gasping baby.

He wouldn't rest until Huey could at least _breathe_ normally again.

And until then, Donald wouldn't breathe at all.

* * *

 ** _Y'all who guessed our poor baby boy was sick, you were right! Though, to know exactly what he's sick with, well, you'll have to find out in the chapters to come! Leave a comment on what you think it is or how you liked this chapter!_**


	7. Breathless Chapter 3

**_What's this? We finally know what's going on with Huey? Horrah! But the stress of it is chipping away at Donald's heart. Poor Huey, hopefully, nothing worse will happen to him, I don't think Donald could take it._**

 ** _Little does he know, it's going to get a lot worse._**

* * *

"Thanks again, for taking them, Gus. I owe you one. Or, like, a million," Donald trailed off, buckling Dewey into his car seat in the old Coot pick up truck. Louie was buckled in right alongside him, still a bit sleepy and dozing off, drooling on the oversized jacket Donald had bundled him in. Gus was busy packing the many bags Donald had given him behind his seat, but he nodded with a warm smile.

"It's no trouble cuz. Besides, it's granny that's gonna look afta' them. I'm just the delivery guy." Gus chuckled softly, finally loading in the last of the diaper and clothes bags and putting his seat back into place with a satisfying ' _clunk_ '. "'Sides, she's _ecstatic_. Been too long since y'all came and visited the farm. She's glad to spend some quality time with 'er great grandbabies."

"I still appreciate it none the less. I know it's early and it's a long drive, and with the snow coming in, the roads aren't all that safe," Donald paused, finally clicking the last buckle on Dewey's strap across his chest before giving his cousin a worried glance. "The roads _are_ safe enough, right? I mean, in this old car-"

"Old Rhonda's been through worse blizzards, trust me," Gus tapped the dashboard fondly as he climbed into the driver's seat and turned the ignition key. The car sputtered and shook once, before starting completely and hummed to life, warm air blasting through the vents. "'Sides, my Unca' Cuthbert cleared off most of the roads down there anyway, so the drive 'ere was pretty smooth. Once we get out of the city, we should be good as gold. They'll probably sleep through most the trip back."

"Let's hope so." Donald closed the passenger door and leaned in through the open window, folding his arms tightly on the door frame. "But, seriously. Thank you. I don't know what I'd do if-."

"Hey, don't think twice 'bout it cuz. That's what families do."

Donald didn't have a response to that and settled for shifting his view on his two nephews. Louie had immediately fallen back asleep once the heated air had turned on, but Dewey was still struggling a bit to stay awake, shifting himself in his car seat to find a comfortable position. Donald smiled at him fondly and rubbed a hand over his head.

"Yeah, I... I guess you're right. I just need a little reminder sometimes," Donald answered, more to himself than to his cousin, not taking his eyes off a drowsy Dewey.

Gus scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he sighed and turned towards Donald, resting an arm on the seat frame beside him. "Look, cuz, what you're doing, you know, with these kids. Well, is nothing less than _amazing_. The 'ole family thinks so. I know _I_ wouldn't be able to do what you're doing even with one baby, let alone a whole brood of them. Fethry could barely watch over one of the newborn calfs just last week. Gladstone can barely take care of ' _emself_."

Donald chuckled softly at that and Gus shot back with a rewarded grin of his own. "What I'm getting at is, well, don't think you 'afta do everything by yourself. We're 'ere to help. _Really_. Don't feel bad about asking for it 'neither. Just say the word, ya know? We'll come 'ah running."

Donald ran a hand through his hair tiredly and gave Gus a shy smile. Because really, what _could_ he say to that? Feeling his face grow red, Donald tore his eyes away from his cousin and let them fall naturally on his nephews. "Thanks, Gus," was all he could muster to say. His heart filled with something he couldn't rightly name.

Light and fluffy snowflakes began to fall just then, and Donald allowed himself a small shiver, remembering just how cold it was.

"You better get going, before it really starts coming down," Donald disguised the topic change by snuggling both Louie's and Dewey's blankets closer to them. "I'll call granny every night and give her updates. Shouldn't be more than a few days, _hopefully_ , but I packed extra diapers and onesies in there just in case."

"Got it," Gus noted.

"I also left some notes in their bottle bag, make sure granny gets them. It's a list of all the boys' eating and napping schedules. She doesn't have to follow them precisely, but it may help them adjust to the new change if they have some sort of stability. Dewey likes to fall asleep to a noisy background, so you can turn on the radio or something if he starts to get fussy. And there's a long list of things Louie won't eat, but I made sure to pack all his favorite snacks if he's being particularly picky-."

"Ok Dona-," Gus responded but Donald interrupted him again.

"And you have my number, call it anytime you need to know anything or if something's wrong. I'll always have my cell on me in case-"

" _Donald_!" Gus _didn't_ shout because he knew well enough _not_ to do that with two sleeping babies beside him. But it was alerting enough to break Donald out of his mini-rant before he could escalate into full-on panic parent mode.

Donald looked at him embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning a slight pink that, for his cousin's sake, Gus was going to attribute to being out in the cold too long. "Sorry, sorry. It's just... this is the first time they've ever stayed a night away from me. I... I don't really know what to expect."

"They'll be fine. _We'll_ be fine," Gus assured him, putting Old Rhonda into gear. "We were practically raised by granny, remember? If anyone can take care of these kids, it's the granny that managed tah keep a preteen you 'n Gladstone from killing each other every summer. That woman can work miracles."

Donald nodded, taking a deep breath. "Right, right. You're right. Just... be safe. Ok? Call me if you... just... call me." Donald settled on and Gus gave him a confident thumbs up. Donald leaned in from the window and gave both his nephews a quick kiss on the tops of their heads before shoving matching knitted hats with their initials on them. A blue **D** for Dewey and a green **L** for Louie.

Donald's had a year to be able to tell the difference between the boys. His family didn't have that luxury, so he tried to make it as easy for them as possible by initialing and color coding _everything_.

"Have fun. I'll see you soon." Donald promised as both boys drifted off. Gus and he shared a nodded goodbye and Donald took a few steps back from the truck. He watched as Gus rolled up the window and, sputtering once more, drove off from the pier driveway and onto downtown morning traffic. Donald stood there watching them until they were completely out of sight before he quickly made his way back to his houseboat.

Short bursts of wind blew the falling snow around him in tight and almost magical circles as flakes clung to his hat and jacket. It was cold, much colder than Donald would have liked for early December. Shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from bone-chilling cold as he walked, and failing, Donald's mind was filled with the mental checklist he made for himself that morning. The new and improved one, once he figured out what was wrong with Huey.

The first thing he did was call into work. There was no _way_ he could Leave Huey in the condition he was in, not in some babysitter or daycare worker's hands or otherwise. He had to take a few days off, it wasn't even a question of if he could or not. He _had_ to.

Besides, he wasn't worried. Well... wasn't _really_ worried, at least. Not the kind he's lose sleep over, anyway. He knew well enough that it was technically illegal to fire someone for taking care of their sick kid. Of course, with Donald's luck and track record, they'd still find _some_ way and reason to get rid of him. So Donald didn't push for more than three days. That's really all he needed. Huey would be fine by then. He'd be better. He had to be. And if that meant he'd have to work overtime once the holidays were over, then he'd gladly take on that responsibility.

First box, _check_.

Then, there was the matter of dealing with the other two boys. Since Donald wasn't going to be working for the next few days, he needed to save whatever money he could, so sending them to daycare was out of the question. Besides, that meant that he'd have to continually drop off and pick up the boys from their daycare, and Donald didn't want to expose Huey to the cold any more than he absolutely had to. And he certainly didn't want to keep them in the same vicinity for too long and end up catching what Huey had and get sick as well.

A sudden pick up of wind blew some falling snowflakes into Donald's face, as if the biting cold was trying to prove Donald's point, and he had to blink rapidly in order to see clearly. He pulled his own hat down farther as he hurried his pace.

More importantly though, was the fact that Donald didn't honestly think he could take care of the other two while also keeping as much attention as possible on Huey. Raising triplets meant an equal amount of attention given to each of them. He knew, regrettably so, that he wouldn't be able to provide that in the shape Huey was in. He needed all of Donald's attention right now. It wouldn't be fair to the other two to keep them locked away in the house while he struggled to take care of Huey.

It made his stomach feel like it was full of bile, something yucky and pathetic corroding the edges of Donald's heart and making him feel like just about the most useless guy in the world. But he had no other choice.

So he called his Grandma Coot for help. Even though she lived a few hours out of town and was busy running her own farm, he honestly didn't know who else to turn too. Granny was the only other adult he could trust with something like this. Besides, granny was the ultimate mom. She took care of her own three kids and practically raised Donald and his cousins on top of that. If anyone would be able to help him, it was his granny. And, if nothing else, she'd at least be able to offer her sagely advise and point him in the right direction on what to do. And Donald so desperately _needed_ to feel like he wasn't lost right now.

And _thank all the stars in the sky_ , did granny not let him down. He hardly got the chance to _ask_ for help after explaining the situation before granny was demanding that Dewey and Louie stay with her for the weekend. Explaining that she was more than capable of taking care of the boys and that if Donald so much as hinted of depriving her of seeing her great-grandkids, she'd march right down there and give him the _'Ol Finger Wag_ that would scar him for months.

Donald couldn't very well argue with that even if he wanted to. He felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his shoulders when granny explained that she'd send his cousin Gus to pick them up immediately and assured him that she would take care of things on her end.

She blew a kiss and a hug through the phone, told Donald she loved him, and promised him that everything was going to be just fine, and to just focus on taking care of little Huey.

Donald _didn't_ cry. But if she heard a couple of sniffs, through the phone, she kindly didn't mention it.

Second box, double _check_.

It only started to really snow by the time he walked onto his own boat deck, and he quickly opened and shut his front door to make sure that what little snow that wasn't already on him was kept outside.

He took another deep breath and leaned against the closed door, taking off his hat and his gloves in the process.

He needed a second, just a quick second. Because really, after all of that, it wasn't fair _at all_.

Why did granny always have to be such a ray of sunshine? And why did Gus have to say what he did? He had caught Donald completely off guard with that family comment. That utterly and completely _stupid_ -sweet comment about him and the rest of their family.

Donald felt like he didn't deserve that kindness. He never felt like he could ever deserve their unconditioned love.

And Donald _hadn't_ forgotten. At least... not purposely. He knew that the Duck and Coot side of his family... he knew they were there for him. Really. But... it was still hard for him at times to give in to their help, no matter how much he wanted or needed it.

Because it wasn't their fault. It wasn't their fault that Della was gone. And it wasn't their burden to pick of the slack that Donald left.

And, he guessed if he was being fair, it wasn't completely Donald's fault either.

But he didn't stop her. He didn't watch over her like the good big brother he was supposed to be. And really, he _could_ make the excuse that _no one_ could watch over the spitfire of a sister that was Della. But it didn't matter. There wasn't any excuse he could come up with that mattered. Because he still didn't, couldn't protect her from...

Well... from the family member that made him feel like he couldn't trust _any_ family at all.

It wasn't their responsibility. It was Donalds. And Donald was going to prove that he could handle that responsibility all by himself.

A small fit of coughing caught his attention from the other room, and Donald didn't hesitate to shed the rest of his winter layers on a nearby kitchen chair before rushing into the other room.

But, if it was only this one time, he didn't mind the extra helping hand.

If it meant that his boys were taken care of the best way possible, then Donald could stand to be a bit shameful, having his pride hurt and give in.

He walked into the nursery and found Huey on his side again, thrown into another labored coughing fit. Donald reached into the crib and picked up his nephew, settling Huey against his chest in an upright position and patted his back soothingly. "Hey buddy, hey. It's ok. I'm here, I'm here."

Huey breathing was strived and rattled as he clung tightly to Donald's shirt, fighting for air through shallow whimpers. Resting his heated skin against Donald's, still chilled from being outside, and shivered instinctually. Donald winced in sympathy pain.

Croup. That's what Donald had figured out he had. Donald didn't really know the whole science behind it, but he knew enough about Huey's symptoms to be able to piece two and two together.

Basically, it's a viral infection of the vocal cords, windpipe, and lungs. Famous for having coughs that sounded like dog barks. It only appears in younger children and Donald could only assume Huey had gotten it from his daycare since all three of the triplets were put into different classes and neither Dewey or Louie had gotten it. Which was amazing, considering Croup is very contagious.

Honestly, it was a miracle the other boys didn't get infected. Donald half wished it was because he kept Huey separated last night but he immediately felt guilty about that idea. Donald had felt so bad when he had figured Huey wasn't being fussy because he was just being ornery and difficult. The poor kid was sick. So sick he could barely breathe. And Donald had basically put him in time out for the night because he thought otherwise.

Donald already knew he was never going to let himself live it down, but there was nothing he could now but to try and help his nephew get better.

Huey let out a big cough, one that made his whole body convulse painfully, and curled into Donald's chest pitifully. Donald felt a cold sweat run down his back in dread.

"Awww buddy," Donald whispered, walking out of the nursery and into the bathroom. "It's ok, sweetheart. Uncle Donald is right here. Let's see if we can try to get some fluids in you. You think you can drink something for me?"

Donald continued to hush quiet nothings to Huey as he turned on the shower and turned the handle all the way to hot. He stood there, one hand stretched into the stream of water till it began growing warm. Once he was sure the water was hot enough, he closed the bathroom door and made his way over to the kitchen.

Grabbing one of the boys' sippy cups from the cupboarded, he filled half of it with warm water and the other half with apple juice. Something he distantly remembered his own mother giving him whenever he was sick. He couldn't remember if it had helped physically, but the memory was wrapped in something warm and soothing, which was good enough for Donald. Besides, it was because of him that Huey hadn't eaten anything last night. Watered down apple juice was the first step in remedying his mistake.

"Here we go buddy," Donald sang, relaxing onto the couch as gently as he could so as not to jostle Huey into another coughing fit. He put the sippy cup on the side table on the edge of the couch so that he could position Huey in an upright position on his lap. Huey wheezed slowly but didn't object to being moved. Donald felt like there was a lead bar weighing down on his heart.

"Here, Huey, can you drink some of this for me?" Donald asked, easing the lid into Huey's mouth. Huey took a small and slow sip, before turning his head away sharply and coughing again, a harsh bark escaping from his lips. Donald patted his back again, continuing to comfort him, but after that, Huey refused to take any more fluids.

"Come on, Hue, you need to drink something. Please," Donald begged, trying his best to coax Huey into keeping hydrated, but Huey only whimpered more. Letting out a soft cry as he turned away from Donald, which only made him break into another coughing spell and crease more worry lines into Donald's forehead.

"Oh sweetheart," Donald immediately put the sippy cup away and held his nephew, continuing to soothe him and comfort him as best as he could. "Buddy it's ok, you don't have to drink any of you don't want to. Thank you for trying."

After about five minutes of sitting there, rocking Huey back and forth and rubbing smooth circles into his back for ease, his coughing fit died down. Donald figured he'd give up on the sippy cup for now and try plan B.

He got up slowly, securing Huey to his chest, and headed for the bathroom.

As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted with heated and moist air. He entered, quickly closing the door behind him, and walked towards the toilet.

Letting the bathroom fill with steam seemed like the best home remedy Donald had found. Hopefully, the wet air would clear up any of the gunk in Huey's throat, and if nothing else, help his airways a little to make breathing easier and less painful.

Sitting on the toilet seat, Donald sat Huey in an upright position once again and continued to rub his back. Within minutes, Donald's clothes began sticking to him awkwardly as he wiped away beads of sweat from his face. He had taken Huey's onesie off earlier to deprive him of the same discomfort Donald was feeling, but Huey still shivered in indifference to the heat. Donald brushed away wet bangs that were starting to frizz from the humidity. Leaning over towards the sick, he wet a washcloth with cold water, squeezed the excess of it back into the sink with one hand, and held it against Huey's head.

Immediately another shiver ran through Huey's body and Donald had half a mind to rip the washcloth away from Huey's skin. But before he could, Huey wheezed quietly as he leaned into, relishing the cold. Donald made a mental note to check Huey's temperature once they were out of the bathroom. He hoped he didn't have a fever, remembering how hot his skin felt earlier and a worried lump felt lodged in the back of Donald's throat.

Donald sighed in sympathy, feeling helpless as he prattled on. Filling the air with comfortable idle chatter and soothing words, trying his best to make Huey as comfortable as possible.

And trying his best to seem like he wasn't about to fall apart.

* * *

 ** _I feel for Donald in this arc. He's like, 24. He's barely an adult and he has to deal with all this drama. He's just doing his best. He doesn't know how to parent yet. Luckily his family has got his back._**

 ** _Unluckily, there are worse things to come that are frankly out of everyone's hands. And Donald won't know what to do with himself if he lets anything happen to Huey._**

 ** _Leave a comment about what you think of this chapter and of chapters to come! I thrive on your guy's thoughts and theories. They're great! Lots of love always!_**


	8. Breathless Chapter 4

There have only been three moments in all of Donald's hectic and busy 24 years where he could truly say that his heart stopped beating.

Where he felt the world beneath his feet had given way, leaving him to tumble and fall into a bottomless pit of dark and cold and _nothingness_. A free fall sensation of emptiness and panic. There was nothing stable around him, nothing to stand on and nothing to hold on to. He was left all alone in his breathless grief as reality around him shattered.

The first time it had happened was on his 8th birthday, when little four-year-old Fethry had almost drowned in Granny Coot's pond. He didn't have long to dwell on the sharp numbness that shot through his system like veins of electricity through a stormy sky. He could barely think. Could barely feel. Could barely process what had happened. All he knew was that Fethry was drowning, his heart had stopped beating, and there was loud, white static piercing in his ears.

And then just like that, he was underwater.

Except he didn't know how to swim. None of them did, and he vaguely remembered that as Della's and Gladstone's cries blurred in the distance as he sank farther into the pond. Not like it was important. The only thing that mattered was finding Fethry's shirt collar and hoisting him back up towards the surface. Eventually, he did so, breaking through the murky water for only a brief second before what felt like a billion hands pulled them both out, drenched and fighting for air through chocked coughs and smuggled hugs from their parents.

Della used to retell the story like it was some sort of hero's tale, recounting it like Donald never hesitated to jump into the water to save their cousin. Fethry could barely remember the incident, let alone know what happened while he was seven feet underwater, and Gladstone was too busy hightailing it back to the barn to get the adults.

Only Donald knew the truth. That, even if it only felt like a second, he did hesitate. That impossible fear and shock had overrun his senses. That for the briefest moments, all he could do was stand in abject horror, and try to remember how to get feeling in his fingertips again.

The second time it happened was a moment that burned itself into the deepest and most tender parts of Donald's heart, and it lasted much longer than a few brief, undecided moments.

The day he lost his sister was the day his heart not only stopped, but fractured into a billion impossible pieces. Too broken and too small to ever be able to put back together again.

He had never felt so lost as he did at that moment, so completely and utterly, _out of body_ lost. Those first few months without her all but blurred together like a greyscale watercolor into something mind-numbing, and if he focused just a little bit, for even a second on the world around him, an unbearable load of soul-destroying _hurt_ would stab him in all the places that mattered. His mind. His memories. His heart. A wrecking ball of grief and misery would destroy the last bits of sanity he'd been clinging on to.

He had almost, _almost,_ convinced himself not to feel again. To live out his days without anger, or fear, or love. Pain like losing his better half would never darken itself on his doorstep again if he had just... _stopped_ caring.

But then he had looked into three pairs of the brightest blue he'd ever seen, and instantly that conviction seemed like a distant and out of touch dream.

Because _of course_ , how could he not feel?

How could he not love?

Love was all he had left, the only thing he had to give to his sister's sons. His nephews.

His boys.

The third time Donald's heart stopped beating was when he let the abundant amount of doctors and nurses take one of his boys from his arms, unmoving and breathless, and placed him on the top of a gurney, whisking him away through doors they wouldn't let Donald go pass. The bright fluorescent hospital lights burning at the edges of Donald's vision as the buzz of commotion and inquiring staff around him drowned away into a numbing white noise.

The only thing that he could hear, ringing like sirens in his ears, was the sound of Donald's own beating heart coming to a slow stop, before shattering like glass.

* * *

It had been almost a full 36 hours since Gus had driven out of sight with Dewey and Louie strapped comfortably into his old pickup, and Donald wasn't doing any better now than he was then.

Huey was only able to keep down liquids, anything solid or bigger than a pea he'd either throw back up or flat out refused to eat. But even getting him to drink, let alone take some medication, took a heartache and a half to accomplish. Mostly because Donald's will to keep insisting Huey stay hydrated even when the poor kid choked and coughed and cried his eyes out to do just about anything _but_ was getting weaker and weaker with every second.

His temperature had spiked to an uncomfortable fever of 101 around two am that night, and Donald was doing everything in his power to keep Huey, and himself, cool and comfortable and calm. He wasn't coughing as much as he had been, which was good, but that was about the only _good_ thing that had arisen from their situation. His throat was still very swollen, causing his breathing to come out in short, sporadic wheezes that looked just on the safe side of miserably painful.

The hot shower steam sessions didn't seem to do anything but make Huey even fussier and tense, so Donald opted for standing by an open window and letting the cold winter air wash over them instead. Which seemed to do the trick in calming Huey's nerves and quell his coughing and breathing fits.

They couldn't stand in the window for long though, because as if things couldn't get any worse, the blizzard outside was only growing worse with each passing hour. The snowfall that had slowly started as Donald had trecked his way back into his houseboat the day before had now escalated to a full-on gale of a storm.

The moment Donald realized Huey's fever was only going to get worse, Donald didn't hesitate to try and start up his car to take him to the nearest pediatricians office.

But the storm was worse than Donald had previously thought after he found his car buried under a hill of snow taller than himself. Only after he was sure Huey was asleep and ok for his nap, Donald tried to brave the storm and the cold as he did his best to excavate his wagoneer jeep. After what felt like a good half an hour of biting wind, frostbitten fingers and nose and a quick run back to the houseboat to check on Huey, he finally managed to uncover his car from the snow.

But like all the small victories in Donald's life, the fruits of his labor turned sour quickly as what little luck and hope he had left vanished like puffs of heat in the storm outside. He tried, God know's did he try, but his old car, who had been faithful and trustworthy up until now, wouldn't start.

"Please, _please_ start," Donald begged, his eyes shut tight as his head rested against the steering wheel. His hand turning the ignition key continuously only for the engine to give a groaning whine and shutter before turning off again. The corners of Donald's eyes stung as he pleaded with all his might, whispering to no one in particular as he gave the key one last turn. " _Please_ , just let me have this. I just need this _one_ thing. Please. For Huey. _Please_."

But the car never started. And Donald spent the next 5 minutes, alone and shivering and miserable, punching the dashboard and steering wheel in front of him as he screamed a long list of profanities that would have peeled the paint off of any walls within a five mile radius if not for the blizzard around him muffling any noise not louder than a runaway freight train.

And only after he had shouted his voice hoarse and drummed his balled fists red and throbbing with pain, did he make the slow and defeated walk back towards the houseboat.

Huey had just begun to stir, throwing himself into another shivering breathing fit when Donald had walked through the front door. The 24 year old threw off his layers in almost record speed, discarding them on the kitchen counter without a second thought as he made his way over to where he had Huey camped out on the living room floor.

Picking him up with expert care, Donald settled Huey against his chest and neck. Huey immediately shivered at the sudden skin contact, but fell into it easily, hiding his heated face in the creek of Donald's chilled neck. The contrast of temperatures was almost breathtaking, and for the thousandth time that day, Donald picked up his phone and dialed the hospital just a few blocks down the road from the pier.

And for the thousandth time that day, all he heard was the static of the receiver as the blizzard continued to cut off his phone connection.

Sighing with a patience Donald didn't know how to keep, he placed the phone back down and sank low into the couch, making sure not to jostle Huey as best he could. He didn't have a T.V. Hadn't had one in almost a year since the boys were born. He sold his old one for some extra cash when he had first taken the boys under his care, those dark times when he was still going through his days in a numb, colorless grief.

He had done that with a lot of the things he had once owned. An old set of golf clubs he inherited from his Uncle Goostave that he hardly ever used was sold for a good 30 bucks at the local Pier sale. The set of fine china his mother had brought back from Scottland had helped pay off that first electricity bill. He even parted with some of the random gifts and souvenirs here and there that he had accumulated over the years from friends. He was able to trade away the bowling ball Mickey had gotten him for his 18th birthday for some baby clothes when the triplets had outgrown their preemie infant onesies. The Mexican ceramic bowls and skulls Panchito always brought him whenever he and Jose would visit were sold to an old antique store down the street for a couple of dollars. Even the engraved watch Daisy had given him for their 5-year anniversary when they were still dating helped to finalize the dept he had when he fought for the custody of the boys...

That last one had been harder to give up than the others, they were all hard to give up in their own way, but Donald didn't have a choice. He knew, tried to convince himself, somewhere deep in his subconscious, that his friends and family would understand. He had to do it, he so desperately needed the money.

And for his boys, well, he'd just as easily trade up the entire world.

One of the few luxuries he allowed himself, however, was a small, red, handheld radio, which was practically as old as Donald was. It was a Christmas gift from his father, he couldn't remember which one or how old he was when he got it, but it was one of the best gifts he had ever gotten from the man. Donald remembered staying up late with Della when they were kids, hushed tones and smothered giggles shared under Donald's blanket as they listened to late-night radio hosts serenade them to sleep with songs and stories of the world beyond their front door.

Those memories were dusted in something light, and delicate, and full of warmth. The last remaining touches of Della's presence in his life. Fingerprints left behind of a time when the world seemed so much bigger to the two of them, more vibrant and full of life. Or maybe, that was just because Della was there, right alongside Donald to make it so.

Either way, the radio was something he could never bring himself to part with, and even if he wanted to, the thing was so dinged up and scratched, the red paint fading into something rose colored and grey, that it would hardly be worth a dime to anyone but himself.

So there it sat on the living room table next to the couch. Donald leaned sideways to grab it, Huey whimpering slightly at the movement, and turned it on. He scanned through the channels quietly, the only thing being picked up was static radio waves and the occasional muffled voice that would never stay too long before fuzzing out into snow and noise. After a few solid minutes of searching, he finally found a weather channel that was only partially subdued with static. The man's radio voice was monotoned and boring, but something about it was settling and easy on the ears, unknotting something deep within Donald that made him sleepy and calm.

Donald didn't fall asleep, he wouldn't allow himself that self-indulgent honor, but he did close his eyes and let his mind wander. He was just so, _so_ tired. The stress of it all had been building and building, threatening to burst through any holes Donald left unchecked for too long, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up at this rate.

He sighed long and softly, taking in the faint smells of a burnt candle that went out some time ago and Huey's infant medicine.

"It's not fair, is it buddy?" Donald muttered, his eyes still closed as he rubbed Huey's back gently. "It's never been fair for me, I've made my peace with that a long time ago. But why does it have to be unfair for you too?"

Donald didn't usually let his more personal and insecure thoughts roam like they were, but the words kept falling out of his mouth, and Donald didn't have the energy to push them back in again. "It's always been that way. Gladstone's the luckiest guy in the world, but his luck only works for himself. I have to be the unluckiest guy in the world, and yet my bad luck seems to spread to anyone and everyone around me. Like some kind of disease."

He frowned as the thought unhinged something painful and dark in Donald's chest, and he tried not to let his blood pulse through his veins in agitation. "First mom and dad died because I was too stubborn to do as I was told. And then Della disappeared because I wasn't strong enough to protect her when I should have. I pushed Scrooge away because I wasn't good enough and I _knew_ that's what he wanted. I pushed Daisy away because I _knew_ I wasn't good enough and that's what she needed. I can't do anything right and I only bring the people I love around me to ruin."

And something cynical was edging closer to one of Donald's many cracks, threatening to leak through and break the whole wall Donald had built for himself over the years down into a thunderous and chaotic mess of emotions. And he wasn't going to cry, he _wasn't_ , but something heaved deep in his chest as he tried to control his body shuddering in frustration. His voice cracking and picking up speed with every word that pushed itself out of Donald's mouth and out into the raw and hurtful open. "I only bring suffering and misery and just the most _rotten_ luck and it's not fair. It's just not _fair_! And now you're sick and in pain and you don't deserve this in the slightest and I'm supposed to make sure this never happens to you but I don't- I- I don't know what to _do_! And I'm useless and helpless and no matter what I do or how hard I try, it never seems to be enough, and it's just not _fucking_ fair-".

Donald froze, something sudden and off-putting catching his senses as he stopped rubbing Huey's back and pulled the small child off his chest.

And just like that, the world seemed to freeze as all the blood drained from Donald's body in a matter of milliseconds. That numbing sensation trickling back into his nerves and shutting down his whole system.

Huey laid there in Donald's arms, his lips blushing a muted blue compared to the paleness of his skin that was cold and clammy to the touch. And-

 _And oh my **god**_ , how could Donald _possibly_ not notice just how shallow Huey's breathing had gotten and how limp his already impossibly small body had gotten _and_ -

And like a dam bursting, Donald's world exploded into something panic-filled and scared.

Without a second thought, Donald wrapped Huey in all the blankets he had in immediate reach, jumped into his boots haphazardly, not bothering to lace them up or even throw on a jacket for himself as he threw open the front door and raced out into the blizzard.

As one track minded as he was at that very moment, Donald couldn't help _but_ notice how cold it was.

When it had gotten dark, Donald didn't care to register, but the winter winds blowing an uncomfortable amount of snow and ice into his face was almost _deterring_ as Donald ran as fast as his legs would carry him through the thick, several feet high snow piled on the pier dock.

 _Almost_.

Because Donald had always been known for his stubborn nature, and at that moment, there wasn't a force on this earth that could stop him now.

Because Huey wasn't breathing, and he couldn't get his car to work and the phone lines were down so he couldn't call for an ambulance and Donald felt the tears freeze harshly at the corners of his eyes because he _didn't know what he was doing_.

But he could run. He could run forward. So hard and so fast that his lungs felt like they were on fire as his breath felt like it was ripped from his lungs everytime he breathed.

But he kept running.

Snow stuck to his hair and drenched his shirt and jeans almost immediately, his fingertips, ears, and nose feeling like they could fall off from the biting cold as the wind continued to blow snow into his face, making it almost impossible to see a few inches in front of him.

But he kept _running_.

Cause the hospital was only a few blocks away, and his arms felt like secured iron bars, tucking the bundle of blankets containing the most precious thing Donald has ever been blessed with in his miserable life safely to his chest, so he kept running.

And he kept running even after he had lost all feeling in his legs a few yards back from the cutting cold snow. He kept running even after he had lost one of his boots in a particularly deep snow bank. He kept running even after he had slid on a piece of ice and, using his elbows and knees to brace the fall so that he wouldn't land on Huey or subject the baby to the cold, cut open major gashes against his arms and legs.

And he would have kept running too, if he hadn't had been nearly run over by a car that seemed to come out of nowhere. Skidding to a halt in front of him, Donald stopped, wide-eyed and breathless, as the headlights blinded him from seeing anything other than the black of the windshield in front of him.

As far as he could tell, no one in their right mind would be driving out on a night like this, when the weather was just too bad and the roads were too slick to hold any traction what so ever. He hadn't seen anyone thus far anyway, or at least, if they were there, Donald didn't register them in his blinding panic. Whatever the case, it didn't matter now, because Donald would take any chance he could grab onto as he ran to the passenger side of the car and rapped violently on the window.

"Please! You gotta help me-," was all Donald was able to get out before the passenger door flew open and, to Donald's swelling heart and wild relief, he was greeted with unmistakable golden hair, curled perfectly under a snow cap and an unforgettable voice that shot through the dark like a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Donald? Is that you? _Jesus_ , what the hell are you doing?" Gladstone asked, his face a mixture of confusion and unease as he scanned Donald from top to bottom with those iridescent green eyes that blazed like greek fire. "Why are you out so late? And without a jacket? And missing a shoe? And _Christ_ \- are you bleeding-"

"Take me to the hospital, _now_!" Donald all but shouted as he jumped into the passenger seat, ignoring Gladstone's look of surprise at the interruption and slamming the door behind him. " _Now_! Gladstone! _Floor_ _it_!"

And maybe it was the shrillness in Donald's voice on the verge of breaking, or the way he was shaking with a convulsion that screamed more than he was just cold. Whatever it was, it did the trick, because just like that, they were racing as fast as the car would go with the icy roads barely giving them any traction to work with.

But if anyone could drive, even if it was just pointed sliding and dodging other parked cars and street lamps, in a blizzard this bad, it was stupid lucky Gladstone Gander.

"Donnie, talk to me, what's wrong?" Gladstone asked, turning the steering wheel furiously this way and that in order to keep straight while skidding on the black ice. "What the hell were you doing-"

"Huey's not breathing," Donald shot out, hysteria getting the better of him as he uncoiled the wrap of blankets on his lap to reveal the baby in question. Huey's cheeks were flushed a pale pink from the cold, as he lay there, still and unmoving, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Donald felt his stomach drop to his feet as he quickly put his hands against his nephew's back, straightening it out as best he could to open Huey's airways as much as possible.

He didn't know CPR. _God_ , why the _fuck_ didn't he know CPR. Donald's head swam with all the useless information he had combed through from all those parenting books that were still sitting strewn across his living room floor and kitchen table. He knew what to do when a toddler through a fit. He knew what speaking patterns to use in order to get his boys to understand the concept of language. He knew what medicine worked best for certain types of stomach aches.

But he didn't know, didn't even occur to him what to do if one of them was choking. He'd baby proof the house long before the triplets were even born. It was safe to assume he wouldn't ever have to learn if he just kept a visual eye on every step the boys ever took.

But of course, things were never that simple, and now look where Donald's assumptions had landed him. Pleading in the passenger seat of his cousin's car as he tried desperately to keep his nephew from turning blue.

"Huey sweetheart _, please_ ," Donald begged, sharp, wet tears pooling from his eyes as he cradled the infant in his arms. Donald barely registered Gladstone peering into his lap and whisper a quiet ' _Oh my God_ ,' before cementing the gas pedal to the floor with his shoe, sending their car hurtling forward with new found purpose. "Just a little further buddy, please, just, hold on for me, _ok_?"

Donald's vision was getting blurry now, the salty teardrops collecting on the patch of blanket next to Huey's head as they rolled down his frosted cheeks. He couldn't stop them from falling, though, to be honest, he didn't really try to, to begin with. If this was any other situation, literally any other, he knew he'd never hear the end of it from Gladstone.

But his cousin was keeping all thoughts and concerns quietly to himself, his usual leaf green eyes turn sharp and radioactive as they kept focused on the road before him. His knuckles turned almost as white as the snow around them as he gripped the steering wheel, muttering a few incoherent things under his breathe that Donald barely cared to decipher.

Because Donald found himself in an odd state of absolute panic, where his heart beat turned slow and rhythmic and his breathing almost as shallow as Huey's. And for some reason, Donald became absolutely ignorant in all the things that mattered and instead, his attention and senses rose to fixate on the smallest of details.

He noticed how he was still so, _so_ cold, despite Gladstone having the heat turned up on full blast, and how he couldn't tell which foot was missing a shoe because they both felt frozen and numb. He noticed the faint sound of jazz music coming from Gladstone's cd player, a bouncy and uplifting tune, despite the raised tension in the space between them. He noticed how he had been breathing through his mouth, heaving and hiccuping as he cried because his nose was too stuffed up.

He also noticed the way Huey's hair seemed to curl and puff out unruly like on his forehead, unlike his brothers who had more straightened hair. He also had a freckle under his right eye that Donald had never noticed before, but now seemed transfixed on. And that he had a nose that matched Donald's, slightly pointed, and round at the very tip, like a little button.

Most importantly though, he noticed just how truly small Huey was, cradled perfectly in the folds of Donald's arms.

The boys had been born 2 months prematurely, and of course, Donald had always known this. But there was something about this moment that made Donald really take to heart what that meant.

They were just so small. And tiny. And helpless. Huey, even at the ripe young age of one, was still all too entirely, almost unreasonably, small for his age group.

And yet Donald had to wonder, how something so small could take up such a big space in his life. How Donald's whole world, revolved around the smallest pinky he had ever seen. His heart, all of it, despite its cracks and breaks and holes, belonged fully to three little people that could somehow hold whole galaxies in their eyes and Donald's love for them only grew with each passing second they were with him.

With all this love, Donald couldn't even begin to process what would happen if suddenly one of them weren't in his life anymore.

And before the thought even occurred to him, Gladstone exhaled a sharp ' _There it is_ ,' that pulled Donald's attention away from his whole world that lay in his hands.

And there it was indeed, standing tall and bright and flashing red against the blacked night sky, was the hospital, and all of the feeling and panic and realization crashed into Donald like a freight train.

He didn't even bother to wait till Gladstone had pulled into the unloading zone as he threw himself out of the moving car, much to Gladstone's exclaimed protests, leaving the blankets behind in the front seat as he held Huey close to his chest and ran towards the entrance.

"Help!" Was all Donald could muster himself to shout as he burst through the sliding glass doors, the wind from outside blowing a small explosion of snow behind him, making his entrance even more startling and eye-catching as Donald claimed the attention of everyone in the waiting room.

"Sir, what seems to be th-", a woman at the front desk started, standing up to get a better look, but Donald didn't finish as he surged forward, words tumbling out as clumsily and flushed as Donald felt.

"My kid he- help, he can't breathe- croup, I think, but _please_ , please you have to help him, _please_." And Donald was hiccuping through the words, tears etching themselves like rivers into Donald's cheeks. He didn't register when a group of nurses had surrounded him, or when Gladstone had come to stand behind him, but he kept pleading, eyes not daring to tear away from Huey in his shaking arms. "Please, _please_ help him."

And before Donald could do anything else, a woman had already snatched Huey from his arms, laying him on a gurney that might as well as materialized beside her, the way Donald perceived it, and calling forth a Doctor that had come rushing from one of the entrances that came lead deeper into the hospital.

And then they were all speaking words, rushed and quizzical and demanding that sent Donald's already fried nerves over the edge, his heartbeat pounding like a roaring river in his ears.

Donald didn't catch a whole lot of what they were saying, but someone had sent the word ' _surgery_ ' through the air, and then the gurney holding the most important thing in Donald's life was suddenly rushed away from him, towards the very doors the Doctor from earlier had come through.

"Wait, where are you taking him, wait-" Donald began asking, his feet finding their second surge of adrenaline as he was about to take a step towards them when a nurse placed a hand out to stop him.

"Sir, I'm gonna need you to come with me, you appear to be experiencing some frostbite on your-"

"Where are you taking him? Let me go with him, please, let me be with him. I have to be with him," Donald ignored the nurse as he pushed past her and walked towards where they were rushing Huey too. He was only a few feet away. He had to stay with him. He couldn't leave him now. Huey needed him. Why couldn't they see that? He needed to be with Huey. If he wasn't there to protect him, if he wasn't there-

"Sir, please calm down. I assure you he will be in great care, but we need to treat your cuts and-," the nurse tried to stop him again, this time stepping in front of him. Donald felt a slight pull to the back of his shirt and a few hands on his arms, preparing to hold him back if need be, and Donald would have pushed forward, would have fought and made a break for it towards Huey-

But Huey was now through the swinging doors and out of Donald's sight, the backs of the doctors' and nurses' heads fading through the circular windows in the doors and something inside Donald just _broke_.

Donald immediately felt the energy in his legs give out, crashing to the floor in an exhausted heap as he continued to stare in the direction they had taken Huey in. " _Please, please, I have to be with him, please_."

Donald had come to terms that he brought bad luck with him wherever he went and upon anyone who crossed his path. But only now was he slowly starting to piece together that the worst of luck, the worst of things that happened to the people he cared about, happened when he wasn't with them.

He was supposed to be with his parents the night they died. But he wasn't.

He was supposed to be with Della the day she disappeared.

But he wasn't.

And now Huey was out of his sight, out of his reach. And as Donald's heart felt cold and muted against the now busy background of waiting room since their arrival, he hoped, and prayed, and _begged_ , that this time-

Just this once-

His bad luck would only affect him.

And like glass, his heart felt like it had shattered, and his world went cold and black.


End file.
